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imagine-darksiders · 1 month ago

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On the Ropes - Chapter 26

A Spark.

Montgomery Gator x Reader.

----

You couldn’t immediately say what is it that drags you from the bliss of a sleepy fugue at some unknown but doubtlessly ludicrous hour in the morning.

Not that it matters much, you suppose. Awake is awake, regardless of how sluggishly your brain chugs itself into gear and hauls with it a familiar and unwelcome ache that spreads down the length of your spine and sharpens to a needling point when it reaches your ankle.

In a voice that’s thick and laden with fatigue, you peel cracked lips apart and croak out a single, scratchy, “Ouch…”

Was that pain always there…?

Little sparks of fire dance and zip around your foot, each strike as unwelcome as a bee sting, and accompanying them is a substantial weight that’s been draped across your thighs, too heavy to simply be your duvet.

Reluctant to face cognizance but resigned to it all the same, you hesitantly pry open your eyelids and find yourself squinting out into an almost pitch-dark room. Only the dim glow of a streetlamp standing outside the alleyway manages to cast its light far enough to creep between the gap in your curtains.

Settled against the opposite wall, the filter on your fish tank gurgles softly in the darkness, the residents inside unaware and undisturbed by your plight.

Still ensnared in that strange interim that hangs between awake and asleep, you don’t connect the pain to its root for some time. Instead, a gentle sigh whistles through your nose as your chest rises and falls, and you send several lazy blinks up at the ceiling.

You have to summon the strength to turn your head over on your pillow and squint at the little red numbers flashing back at you from the clock that’s perched on your bedside table.

‘4:12am’

Your lungs deflate with mild relief.

If nothing else, at least there’s still plenty of time to catch a few more hours of sleep before you have to get up for work. Maybe, you muse in your sleep-addled brain, you can ignore the twinges and the pressure on your lap, and simply drift right back off to sleep.

You just need to relax.

Turning your head back to the ceiling, your senses still clumsy and dull, you sink against the pillow and smack your lips, relishing the softness beneath your skull.

…. Wait…

No sooner has your head touched down however than your eyes flutter open again, brows furling together into a quizzical frown.

‘Work…? No… That’s not right…’

Another timely spike of pain twists down the outside of your ankle.

And just like that, clarity sets in with such harsh ferocity, your heart just about takes a nosedive off your sternum and plunges down into your guts, dragging with it the grim truth of a reality you’d managed to forget in your sleep.

‘Ah… Right…’ you lament to yourself with a grimace, ‘The ‘incident.’

The endo… Stella… Monty coming to your rescue…

There in the darkness, your brain arduously begins fitting the puzzle pieces together, though it pauses once you reach the part where Doctor Timpson handed you a prescription for a bag full of painkillers, and suddenly, that’s all you can focus on.

Wincing, you suck in a breath through your teeth and shift uncomfortably on the bed as the pain grows from tender to worrisome.

Now you know why you woke up.

Your painkillers must have worn off during the night.

… Figures…

Heaving a weary sigh, you reach up to scrub your fingertips roughly over your eyes, groaning like you’re scratching a satisfying itch until little bursts of colour and light start to flash across the black expanse behind each eyelid.

The painkillers, of course, are not on your bedside table, because it would have been too much to expect of yourself to place them there next to a handy glass of water…

No.

Instead, they’re still sitting by the bathroom sink in their crumpled white bag alongside a dry toothbrush and the neglected care instructions for your cast.

Just then, your ankle gives another unpleasant throb, hot and swollen within the confines of its bulky stocking.

Yielding to the fact that you’ll never get back to sleep unless you take those pills, you let out a belligerent moan and thrust your hands off your face, reaching down the length of your body instead to grasp the duvet that’s been scrunched up around your waist.

You move with every intention of tossing it aside so you can heave yourself out of bed. What you don’t expect however, is for the tips of your outstretched fingers to collide painfully with a smooth, solid obstruction nestled heavily in your lap.

There’s a dull ‘clunk!’ followed almost immediately by your squeaked, “Aah!”

The shrill bleat of alarm ruptures an otherwise peaceful twilight, but the compulsion to cry out is too overbearing to bite down on. After all, you’ve just been rocked by a very palpable wrongness in learning there’s something on your bed that definitely should not be there.

Violently, like you’ve just been burned, you rip your hand away and flail clumsily on the mattress, making a pitiful attempt to shimmy yourself backwards up the headboard only to find that your legs are trapped by the inexplicable weight still settled over them, far more noticeable now that you’ve been jolted properly awake.

In the next second though, you grow very still, frantically stuffing your lips together and choking on an expletive as your shock ducks aside to allow abject horror to take its place.

Whatever it was you’d struck utters a sharp, throaty grunt that sends reverberations rattling up through your bed frame. Without warning, the unseen obstruction gives a rough lurch and promptly shoots upright, and as it does, the weight in your lap disappears.

Your eyes - still unaccustomed to the dark - stare wildly at a massive black shape that shifts against the ebony backdrop of your bedroom, its edges indiscernible despite how you try frantically to search for definition.

Are you still dreaming? Is this a nightmare?

The bones in your ankle sing as you jerk your legs up, curling the one not in a cast as far from the silhouette as you can bear.

And then, with a mechanical whir, two spots of vivid, blood-red light sputter into existence, hanging side by side several feet off the ground, far higher than any human’s eyes ought to be.

For just a split second, you’re a child again, laying in your bed late at night with the covers pulled right up to your chin, plagued by thoughts of red-eyed monsters rising out from under the bed to eat you or kidnap you or do whatever it was monsters did to overimaginative children.

Then all of a sudden, it speaks.

The voice is gruff and pitched deep like the growl of some wild, feral animal. It fills the room, pulling a visceral flinch out of you before the words even reach your ears.

“Ugh, Lady? Whus’wrong?” it slurs drowsily, muffled as though it’s talking to you over an untuned radio, “Y’okay?” A sharp burst of static buzzes through your eardrums, and this time when the voice speaks again, there isn’t a hint of drowsiness to it. Just clear and abrupt urgency. “You hurt!?”

And just like that, the neurons in your brain light up, and the final puzzle piece shoves itself back into place, such an obvious and unmistakable piece that you wonder how you didn’t see where it fit in the first instance.

“Monty!” you gasp out in a rush, only mildly relieved by the revelation as those fearsome red lights above you start to take on a softer tinge of pink, illuminating the rounded tip of a familiar, green snout, “Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of me!”

Eyes – ‘optics,’ you remind yourself – swivel wider before they narrow again, then turn into little halfmoons hanging above you, a sign that he’s shuttering his plastic eyelids, leaving them to droop dejectedly over the lights of his LEDs.

“Oh…” the animatronic mumbles, and you hear the heavy thud of his foot as he takes a step back, away from the bed, his pistons hissing with renewed activity, “… M’sorry…”

You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to hearing an apology escape from Montgomery Gator’s speakers, and you might’ve even taken the time to recognise its rarity if you weren’t so abruptly swept up in a whirlwind of alarm and borderline panic.

All at once, your limbs spring apart as you sit ramrod straight in the bed and try to pick out Monty’s features through the gloom, ignoring the angry jolt of red-hot heat that sparks a fire in your ankle.

That heat is nothing compared to the broiling ruckus currently churning in the pit of your stomach.

“The Hell are you still doing here!?” you blurt out, all but throwing yourself sideways to fumble for the lamp on your bedside table, “You should have been long gone by now! Oh, my fucking…-! What’s your battery on!?”

Scrambling fingers find the little push switch on the side of the lamp, and you waste no time flicking it on, instantly hissing at the intrusion of light that rudely sears your retinas and forces you to squeeze your eyes shut.

“My battery’s fine,” the gator retorts, unseen, sounding less morose and more like his usual self, “I was in standby… Low energy consumption.”

Your eyelids protest valiantly when you attempt to pry them apart, but little by little, you coax them open again and blink through bleary vision at the wobbly blob of green towering above your bed. “Standby,” you echo flatly.

As if that even vaguely answers the question as to what he’s still doing in your room.

Montgomery Gator, in all his great, green glory, is standing at the side of your bed when he really, really shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be anywhere near your bed, in fact, not when he was supposed to have made his way back home hours ago.

It still comes as a shock to see how much larger he appears without the high roofs and vast rooms of the Plex as a backdrop.

In here, stuffed between your bed and the wall, with the top of his mohawk almost brushing the ceiling, and his tail sprawled out across your carpet, he seems over twice his normal size.

Apparently oblivious to the crisis of his own making, the animatronic tips his long snout down at you, the black, plastic brows on his head slotting neatly together as he declares, “S’your battery you should be worryin’ about. Can’t’ve got much charge yourself.”

You resist the urge to scoff as you match his disapproval, scowling right back up into his optics, half hidden behind his glasses.

“Humans don’t have batteries,” you argue at last, gingerly extracting your legs from the bed and lowering them over the side, taking care not to let your injured appendage bump against the floor. All the while, you have to suppress a wince.

Because watching you like a hawk, Monty grunts, “You know what I mean.”

With a shake of your head, you brace your hands on the edge of the mattress and peer glumly down at the cast covering your leg as a question springs to mind; Is this really an argument you want to have right now…? Is this an argument you want to have at all? The shock of waking up to find the animatronic in your room is slowly but surely receding with each subsequent second.

You suppose having him all but break in last night was about as shocking as it could get. Anything that follows simply doesn’t measure up. And besides, getting into a verbal spat won’t change the very glaring fact that he’s still here… All it’ll do is sap what little energy you’re pulling from your reserves, never mind what it could do to his.

It’s too early. You’re too tired. You’re in too much pain. And you do so hate to fight…

Your ears twitch when the gears in Monty’s jaw spin softly as he opens it to ask, “Did you get any sleep at all?”

The ‘you look terrible’ comment remains unspoken but conceals itself badly behind his teeth.

Tearing your eyes off the cast, you bend your neck back and release your longest sigh yet. When it ends, you just blink languidly up at the gator, and at last reply, “Doesn’t matter. A few hours’ll have to do for now.”

Under your breath, in a voice deliberately pitched so quiet that he can’t pick it up, you softly mutter, “Painkillers…”

As you start to push yourself off the squeaking mattress, you hear an unhappy grumble from the speakers of the massive animatronic, and in just one swift stride, he’s suddenly hovering right above you, curling his thick, sturdy palms under your elbows and gently lifting you onto your feet with far more care than such a formidable bot should possess.

“Does matter,” he retorts petulantly, keeping his hands under one of your arms whilst you bend awkwardly and fish around on the floor for the crutch you’d discarded near the side of your bed.

“Why’d you wake up anyway?” he continues to grouse, “I was comfy…”

Blowing an exasperated huff through your nose, you straighten up and slip your unoccupied arm through the crutch’s handle, tugging your captured appendage from the gator’s palm and making the awkward squeeze around his sizeable bulk.

“Gee, I don’t know,” you yawn, raking your fingers across your scalp and cringing at the oily slickness clinging to your hair. When did you last have a shower? “Maybe because I realised there was a giant gator in my lap. Who probably shouldn’t still be here.”

Heavy footsteps clunk after you into the ensuite bathroom. “You said I could stay!”

“For a little while, I recall,” you snap waspishly over your shoulder, running a hand over the wall until your fingertips find the light switch. With a dull ‘click,’ the tiled, white room is suddenly flooded in a buzzing fluorescence that hurts your eyes. Not a second later, you’re already regretting the sharpness of your tone.

Hissing a sigh through your teeth like a pressure valve being released, you hobble forwards to the sink and brace your front against it, lifting your eyes to the mirror and peering at your reflection.

‘Ugh.’

Well… you suppose the dark bags are a given, but did you have to drool so profusely as to leave a line of dried, crusty spit down the side of your chin?

Wetting your fingertips under the dripping tap, you scrub them fervently at the spittle and turn your gaze instead to the reflection of the large animatronic lurking behind you in the doorway.

He doesn’t meet your gaze. He’s too busy frowning down at his feet, brows resting heavily above his optics.

In contrast, your own expression softens, weary and apologetic.

“Look,” you say in a far less agitated tone, turning off the tap with a squeak of metal and inspecting your now clean chin, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to argue with you, Monty. I just want you to go home-”

“-Why’re you so keen to get rid of me?”

What follows is a silence so fragile, you could probably drop a feather and it would shatter into a thousand, fibrous pieces.

Your fingertips find the edge of the sink and flex bruisingly on the porcelain whilst you stare through the mirror, at a loss for words.

This time, Monty is looking back. His optics are set into a hard, unflinching scowl, aperture pupils shrunk down to mere pinpricks.

You’re not about to let that slide…

“That,” you snap, “is not what this is, and you know it.”

And the thing is, he does know it. Even as he admonishes himself for asking the question, he knows. You wouldn’t… do that to him. Time and again, you prove to be a better person than he consistently expects you to be.

But experience has driven a recognisable pattern right into his code that isn’t so easily shaken loose.

Montgomery Gator knows rejection far better than he knows acceptance. Humans want him gone more than they want him around, it’s been that way since he was first turned online, and proceeded to malfunction so badly, his tail broke several laptops and a workbench. Good things don’t tend to last for bots like him. He’s told himself that before. It’s a notion that’s been haunting the back of his processor from the day he met you.

There’s always another shoe, and it’s always about to drop…

He… doesn’t want you to be the one to drop it.

Anyone else… anyone at all…

Just not you.

He hadn’t realised before just how much he needs you to choose his presence over his absence. And although he knows you’re right, it’s bad that he’s here, it’s bad for both of you that he’s here… something in his programming, something that shines as green as the snout on his face, selfishly vies for your acquiescence.

Then all of a sudden, you’re doing it, you’re turning arduously around until your back is to the sink, and you’re staring him in the optics straight on, not through the surface of the mirror.

Suddenly, he finds himself straining his audials in anticipation, every wire and node in his frame poised to hear you tell him he can stay. Here.

With you.

Instead, you do something else entirely.

In a fashion he should have expected by now, you step delicately into the middle of the playing field, no man’s land, neither telling him you want him here, nor that you want him to go.

“You think I want to say goodbye and not see you for six weeks?” you ask plainly instead, bringing his processor to a grinding halt, then viciously knocking it off its tracks with the follow-up, “I don’t want to get rid of you, Monty, I want you to be safe.”

Safe…?

Several of the gator’s systems have to reset themselves, his optics first and foremost, flickering narrow then wide again as he shutters his lids in a few rapid-fire blinks.

Dumbly, he has to thump a fist against his chest when the speaker inside it stalls on a clumsy, “Huh?”

But you don’t seem all that willing to let him get his thoughts in order. “What do you think Mick’ll do if he finds out you’re not in the Plex? Hm?” you press on, “And I really hope it is ‘if’ and not ‘when’.”

… Safe…

Unbidden, one of the gator’s hands worms its way up to lay over the cavity of his chest, rubbing tenderly at the plastic casing as if it’s sore.

“I’m sorry, Monty...” you tell him, earnest and frank, setting aside the grief of your leg in favour of spending a few more moments consoling the animatronic, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to have to say it, but…” Hesitating, your brows dip, and you offer the gator a sad, tired frown. “Not everyone is on your side.”

‘Understatement of the century,’ he gripes to himself. But why should he care about that? So long as you’re on his side, things will be okay.

“But lot of people are,” you squeeze out with conviction, pouring as much encouragement into your words as you can fit, “I’m on your side. That exec came around too, didn’t she? Stella, and her mums. Andy is starting to trust you! Andy Flowers! Hell, even the public are seeing you properly for the first time. But it’s the people who aren’t on your side who you need to tread carefully around. People like Mick,” you continue, earning a sudden, guttural thrum from the gator’s speakers that you deliberately ignore. Let him be angry. You’re pretty angry too if you’re being honest.

Resisting the urge to wring your hands together imploringly, you add, “Right now, Mick is gonna be looking for any excuse to hurt you.”

You’re hardly surprised when Monty sticks his snout into the air and expels a haughty grunt, his prior astonishment all but forgotten in the overpowering wake of his pride.

“I’d like to see ‘im try,” he declares, jamming the pad of a thumb against his chest, “I protected you from an endo, an’ I can protect myself from old Mick too. I’m stronger than that pipsqueak by a mile.”

His bluster, however, is almost immediately knocked back out of him when you abruptly shove yourself off the sink with an exasperated shake of your head. “It isn’t about how strong you are!”

In your haste however, you stumble on your bad foot, and just like that, Monty is there, stooping forwards with his arms outstretched to catch you by the shoulders. At the same time, your own hands clasp feverishly on top of the gator’s wide wrists, squeezing at the plastic panelling as if you could physically press upon him the gravity of the situation.

“Monty,” you chew his name through clenched teeth, meeting his stare behind those star-shaped sunglasses, “He can hurt you – No, stop–! He can.” You have to interrupt him when his jaw opens to argue.

“Mick can hurt you,” you reiterate once the gator’s fangs click together again, “Without even touching you, Mont. All he needs is a reason. And you being here instead of the Plex?” One of your hands leaves the silent animatronic’s wrist and ventures up towards his face, cupping your palm gently over his rounded cheek. “That’s reason enough for him,” you finish, watching as the black holes of Monty’s apertures swirl wider and wider with every second that the warmth of your fingertips seeps through to his sensors.

If he was capable of swallowing, he would. His optics swivel over to your hand near his teeth, and once again, Monty finds himself slamming a firewall down to cut communications with the gears in his tail. This is not the size of room where the overeager appendage will be subtle if it starts swinging.

There’s a thought pinging around his processor, one he doesn’t dare give voice to lest the truth of it betray just how much the great Montgomery Gator has come to rely on the presence of another when the only back he’s watched for so long is his own.

How… How in the world is he supposed to survive for six weeks without you?

Almost of its own accord, his processor starts to run several hypotheticals detailing emergency protocols he’ll have to follow in the event of an incident occurring while you’re not with him.

And on the opposite side of the equation, he can’t help but wonder what you’ll do without somebody to watch over you when he’s not around?

It’s an unforeseen element of Friendship he hadn’t factored in until now, this… this worry.

Monty casts about for a better word, one that doesn’t have so many connotations attached to it, but he comes up empty, failing to marry his unease with anything more applicable.

He’s worried. And that in itself is worrying.

The blooming warmth emanating from your palm suddenly retracts, and Monty jerks his head upright, realising with some alarm that he’d been leaning his cheek quite heavily against your hand.

You’ve dropped it back down in favour of scrubbing it tiredly over your face. “I’m not sure what I’d do with myself if you got decommissioned because of me,” you admit sullenly, forcing him to cycle back several moments to recall your last words.

Still, the guilt woven through your tone is surprising.

“Cause of you?” he grunts, “Why would it be your fault what they do to me?”

You look up at him then, your eyes focused and sharp like whetted blades. “Monty,” you say slowly, “Why are you here?”

The question stops him in his tracks.

Because the answer is simple. It’s standing in front of him, staring him quite literally in the face.

It’s you. He came here tonight for you. He left the Plex for you, risked being found out for you, is still risking his own safety… for you.

It wouldn’t be your fault if Management does something drastic to him.

But it will be because of you.

Slowly, so slowly he half wonders if there’s a fault in his systems, Monty’s optics droop to observe your hands. The tiny appendages – so much smaller than his own – are clenched with a rigorous fervour, one around the handle of your crutch, and the other into the shirt you fell asleep in, twisting the fabric between your fingers that have gone white at the knuckle to expose the bone underneath.

You're scared.

“So please. For my sake,” you continue, drawing his gaze from your hands to your face, “To stop me from worrying about you so much-“

The gator’s lips twitch in a wince.

“-Will you please go back to the Plex?”

And this time, with a new perspective rolling around in his processor and gumming up the gears in his jaw, he doesn’t bother to open his mouth, relying on his speakers to offer a concise and muted response.

“Okay.”

And maybe… Just maybe… the tired but dazzling smile that flutters then blooms across your expression and brightens the room makes his acquiescence all the more worth it.

“Thank you, Monty,” you tell him, the fatigue in your eyes never once stealing from the sparkling gratitude you’re trying to drown him in, “Thank you.”

And Hell, maybe he’s inclined to let your palpable waves of relief wash over him for just a bit longer.

-----------------------------------------------------

You never shut the window last night…

Standing awkwardly like a looming giant in your - now rather chilly - living room, Monty’s optics trace the scrapes and gouges he’d inadvertently torn from the wooden frame in his haste to reach you after you took that tumble yesterday.

Wincing, he clears the static from his voice box with a sheepish cough and mutters, “Uhm… I… um… Sorry, ‘bout your window…”

Leaning on your crutch beside him, you ponder the same destruction, one palm clasped around your chin.

With the painkillers now working their quick and heavenly magic around your ankle, the thoughts in your head are less of a nuisance to put together. Monty had almost tripped over his own tail in his haste to get you your requested glass of water from the kitchen. It was the only thing you could think of that would make him feel helpful and get him out of your bathroom long enough for you to splash some water on your face and idly tousle your hair.

Needless to say, it worked like a charm.

Now, you have to take several quiet breaths, in through your nose then out through your mouth before your momentary alarm at finding your window wide open starts to fade away.

It could have been worse, you suppose.

Oh certainly, the window’s frame will need to be repaired, but you’re less concerned about such a potential cost now than you would have been before Faz Co. paid you that hush money. And sure, someone could have broken in while you slept, but somehow, knowing you had a gigantic animatronic alligator on standby diminishes that particular concern. Besides, nothing looks to have been stolen. There isn’t really much to steal, after all, and you don’t live on the ground floor, a fact which deters all but the most desperate of thieves.

Besides…

“Windows can always be fixed,” you tell him, turning to flash him a warm tilt of your lips, “You, on the other hand…”

He doesn’t miss the none-too subtle hint.

Monty’s snout tilts up towards the ceiling, his tail thwacking carefully against the carpeted floor in mock exasperation. “A’right,” he huffs, venting out a hot blast of air from the regulator valves in his nostrils, “I’m goin’, m’goin’…”

Leaning your body on the crutch, you bite the inside of your cheek and muscle back a grin when Monty takes a slow, lumbering step towards the window, dragging his tail like a dead weight across the living area.

A performer to the end…

He doesn’t even make it to the window before he stops once more, twisting his nose over a shoulder strut to peer down at you, his crimson LEDs glowing faintly behind his glasses. “You sure you don’t-?”

“-I’m sure.”

“But what if somethi-!?”

“-It won’t.”

“… Right…” he concedes quietly, turning back to the open window.

With laboured movements betraying a reluctance that clogs his every motor, Monty meticulously begins navigating his too-large frame through the window, taking great care that his shoulders don’t scrape any more paint off the wood as he goes.

You’re grateful for his effort, enough to swallow back a laugh when his mohawk clunks solidly on the wood above him and he releases an audible hiss of annoyance, swivelling his optics up to give the frame a dark glare.

It isn’t lost on you that two weeks ago, if you’d asked Monty to ‘be careful,’ he’d more than likely go out of his way to do the exact opposite.

You really are proud to see the work he’s put in to improve his standing at the Plex.

As the gator turns to feed the length of his tail through your window, you give your head a fond shake and step forwards, following his path to the sill and leaning against it on your elbows and watching your breath billow out of you in a soft cloud of white.

Awkwardly sized on the fire escape, Monty manoeuvres himself about to face you, ducking his head low and dropping down onto a knee, bringing himself to your level.

His massive frame rises and falls as he synthesises a sigh, reaching up to sweep the sunglasses off his nose and drape his forearm over a bent knee.

“Guess this is it, huh?” he gripes aloud, brightening ever so slightly when you give a husky laugh.

“Monty. It’s not forever, you know.”

“Might as well be.”

Blinking, your lips quirk affectionately, and you lean your chin on a palm, tilting your head to one side. “Aww~. I thought Freddy was meant to be the charming one.”

As you should have expected, Monty’s plating immediately flares around his neck and he draws himself up, thoroughly affronted. “I’m plenty charming!” he declares.

Flashing him a sly grin, you reply, “So I’m gathering.”

You can see the moment his CPU connects your words together. The animatronic’s brows tick up his forehead and his jaws promptly snap shut with a loud ‘clack.’

You figured he’d appreciate ‘charming’ over ‘cute.’

Even with the nightly bustle of the city drifting into the alleyway, you can hear several of Monty’s gears kick up a notch, whirring noisily in the relatively peaceful alleyway.

Taking pity on the stupefied animatronic, you tip your head upright again and lose the teasing lilt.

“It was very kind of you to come and check on me, Monty.”

Optics click shut, then open again, spinning prettily as they land on you. Without his sunglasses, you find him all the more expressive. An odd realisation for you to have about a robot.

“Yeah?” he utters softly.

Humming, you nod your head, slapping on a sickly-sweet smile and a tone that oozes warning. “Yep… Don’t you ever do it again.”

Dipping his nose sheepishly, Monty rubs at the back of his neck, avoiding your stern glare.

“You’ll head straight back to the Plex?” you add.

“Uh huh.”

“And you’ll be careful and make sure nobody sees you?”

“Mmhmm…”

The façade crumbles and you’re smiling again, still weary, but a smile all the same.

The animatronic catches it when he braves a glance up, and his contrition melts away at the sight of it, as it seems to be doing more and more often of late.

“Good,” you murmur, swaying your torso further out the window, hardly putting a lot of thought into what you’re about to do.

Later, you’ll blame it on the ungodly hour dulling your senses, and the bud of gratitude for Monty swelling in your chest until it was large enough that you thought nothing of stretching your neck out and pressing a gentle, chaste peck on the very tip of his nose.

It’s over and done in a moment, nothing noteworthy about it, just a fond farewell between friends.

But that’s only half of the collective perspective.

Because Monty…. Well, he could have lived in that second for the rest of eternity.

The warmth of soft, tender skin squashing against his snout is at first surprising, thought it almost immediately gives way to something a little more abrupt once his processor registers what you’re doing.

When it does, a surging jolt of electricity thrusts his internal fans into overdrive, riding the currents of his wiring all the way through his frame and overloading several core systems. One after the other, they shut down, rebooting after a nanosecond, and still your lips are on him, so, so perilously close to his teeth.

His jaw motors fail then, followed immediately by the hydraulics in his arms, letting them fall slack to his sides. His optics flutter closed in blissful contentment as his entire frame threatens to buckle and teeter sideways, held aloft when the fail-safes in his limbs lock them into place to prevent damage from a fall.

The warmth – the sheer, unutterable warmth is there for eons, and for a mere second – and then…

Cold. The spot you’d graced with a fabled kiss is cold once more, and Monty’s optics snap open and his fingers fumble to resecure their slackened grip on his sunglasses.

You’re there, in front of him, haloed by the golden light of your living room, looking every bit the angel he’s only seen on Christmas cards they sell in the gift shops.

They don't hold a candle to real thing, he realises mutely.

“Goodnight, Monty. Be safe, okay?” you ask.

Is that all? Don't you realise you could ask him to bring you the Moon and he'd find a way to do it?

Starstruck, the gator just nods his head dumbly in response, barely paying attention as you withdraw from the windowsill and raise your hands to the frame over your head, slowly drawing it shut. He’s still standing there when your hands slide around the curtains and you cock a smile, flapping one arm at him in a shooing motion.

With his frame still buzzing and sparking with excess electricity, Monty’s residual processing power manages to turn him about on a heel and take the stairs one at a time, each clanging footstep growing faster and faster as his systems burst back to life.

He doesn’t recall how he made it to the rooftops again. Only that his thundering footfalls feel light – lighter than they’ve ever felt before, even when he’s performing on stage, even when the crowd is roaring with excitement.

Monty flies over the buildings, he’s sure he’s flying.

Perhaps there’s a hidden feature the engineers snuck into his programming that would cause him to barely notice his own weight because this euphoria shouldn’t be possible for an animatronic made of wires and codes.

The early morning is dark and bitingly cold.

But Monty only has sensors for the patch of warmth his silicone still remembers on the tip of his nose.

Already, in the corner of his HUD, the feedback of that moment is playing on a loop.

When the lights of the Megaplex come into view on the city’s outskirts, he almost believes he could leap right off the current building and soar all the way over the immense carpark to the rooftop he began his journey from. He only stops himself when logic catches up and reminds him that he definitely cannot fly.

Keeping his promise to you, he scales down the wall and slinks silently across the vast ocean of tarmac, sticking to the shadows on the perimeter of the Plex until he finds the same spot he’d jumped from last night.

It’s just as easy – easier, in fact with the residual energy coursing through his systems – to launch himself halfway up the towering wall, grabbing onto a gutter and then kicking off again, hauling himself hand over hand and digging his claws into the brickwork until he’s vaulting over the guard rail and onto the roof proper.

There, he turns - his chest bloated and bursting with elation – to face the city.

Somewhere among those shimmering lights is your home. And by extension, you.

He knows where you are, and that alone is enough to soothe the glaring code that longs to be within reach of you.

He’ll stay at the Plex to make you happy, and he’ll do so gladly.

Because Montgomery Gator is not about to jeopardise his chances of getting another kiss.

#fnaf #fnafsb #security breach #five nights at freddy's #Monty Gator #Montgomery Gator #Reader #Monty x reader #Fluff #omg first kiss?#Monty's tail is its own character

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zarnzarn · 1 month ago

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Octavia.

I have to get her, Stolas thinks, as the liquid drips off his face. She has never faced Stella's cruelty. I have to go-

Blitz yells at the janitor over his shoulder and Stolas opens his eyes- was the world always this colorful? He doesn't remember the days before he lost his sight to the stars- to brush aside the humiliation and get to his feet.

"No, it's fine, Blitz," He says, turning around. After a pause, "I'm okay."

He's alive, at any rate. Miserable and terrified and humiliated once more and-

At least he's alive.

"Look, let's get you home, alright?" Blitz coaxes, holding out a hand. Another shiver runs through him at the words, lump forming in his throat.

"I-" He nearly chokes on it, but- "I have no home."

He needs to find a way to get Octavia- but his books. His plants, his crystals, his telescopes. "Everything I have is gone."

Stolas nearly collapses to the floor at the enormity of it as it presses down on his shoulders, but warm claws grab both his hands and steady him at the last moment, steady and familiar.

"Look, come with me, alright?" Blitz's voice is firm and steady, allowing no arguments. "Let's get you out of here, 'n you'll need a place to stay for a bit."

Stolas lets himself be led out, shaking. Blitz is warm by his side, rubbing at his thighs and arms in comfort, tail curled around his feet protectively as they walk.

He dissociates as the others leave, following the touch on his thighs blindly as he's guided through the streets. Something in him flickers briefly when Blitz pulls him closer protectively once things start getting thrown around in celebration, some quiet part of him thrilling at the protective touch, but it's gone again quickly like ash in the wind.

He stumbles through the too-small building, falling into familiar pliancy as Blitz guides and pulls him along; uncurling a little when they pass all the rat-bitten hallways and suspicious stains to a flat with warm lights- Blitz's home.

He stares around at the smattering of photos on the wall; eyes flicking over the people and places- then yelps when he walks into the ceiling fan, screwing it back on before it can fall.

Right. Homes for imps and hellhounds.

He looks back and then suddenly wishes he hadn't, as Loona bends down to hug Blitz, tails curling around each other as they grip on tight.

"-Love you, dad," She says and Octavia-

He comes to staring at bathroom tiles.

Octavia. He's lost his owlet. His daughter.

"-You back, birdie?" Blitz murmurs behind him. The bathwater is warm. "Hey. Stolas. Don't worry, baby, everything will be alright."

A trill escapes him instead of words, a self-soothing habit he never escaped.

"Yeah, I know," Blitz says, quiet and warm. Stolas' life has ended, but he cannot help but curl into the warmth. He has starved in the cold for so long. "I know. Don't worry right now. Just- your body's been put through the ringer, you need to rest."

Stolas flinches as the soap runs over his arm and Blitz hisses in worry, parting the feathers to look at the ugly woundscar there. He grabs Stolas' hand and gently closes his talons over it to cover it from the soap, and continues running the sponge over his body like he used to.

Is this pity? He wants to ask. Is this only because I saved you? Do you even like me otherwise?

"Here we go," Blitz soothes, and Stolas trills again, melting against his will at the familiar words- he'd thought he'd never feel them again, the gentle way he was handled after all the roughness, coaxed to relax like he was a wild thing, aftercare. He'd always loved the aftercare. And Blitz had always been- Stolas had mistaken everything between them solely because of how good the other had been at it, at treating Stolas with softness. "Here we go."

He likes the term 'we'. Like they were taking care of Stolas together.

"Some nice agua," Blitz says behind him, then tenses as the door creaks open. He doesn't see what happens, too busy considering the water before him.

Octavia.

"WHOA! Try not to inhale the water!" Blitz shouts as he pulls Stolas out hurriedly, shooting him a brief smile and setting clothes down, before moving back out. The door opens again and Stolas can see the worry radiating in the reflection of the tiles, the quiet knowing of what Stolas was going to do if left alone. "Yeah, try not inhaling the water."

The door doesn't shut again.

Stolas sighs, sitting in the lukewarm water. His eyes wander over to the sweater and somehow, with all his strength, he pushes himself up.

Blitz smiles sadly at him when he stumbles out of the bathroom, muscles loose and uncoordinated. His ex-lover takes Stolas by the hands and carefully holds him as he loses the last of his strength and collapses onto the incredibly comfortable couch, eyelids pulling closed already.

They murmur to each other- "Always," Stolas promises, no matter where it leads him, no matter what Blitz says in reply- and welcomes the bliss of darkness.

It has been a terrible day. It will be a terrible year. He must go get Octavia as soon as he can.

But Stolas cannot help but bask in the embrace as it curls around him like claws in his headfeathers and a kiss on the cheek- and cannot regret any of it, as long as he is warm.

#helluva boss #stolas #blitz #stolitz #my fic #AFTER ALL THESE YEARS!!!!#also when u dissociate u often think about unrelated casual things #but also im sleepy we have line transects in a few hours and i have to get out my emotions #goodnight my family i wish u all a very happy hb renaissance

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 1 year ago

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A little danger, pt. 13

A little danger - Series Masterlist

Pairing: Sky of Eraklyon x mind!fairy

Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, sexual innuendos, descriptions of wounds/death

———— PART 13 ————

It’s almost funny just how much time Y/N spent wishing her powers gone, yet when her wishes are finally heard she can’t reconcile the emptiness. The power that occupied a space inside her chest, wrapped around her heart in an eternal embrace she could always rely on, is now absent. Warmth her power generated had retreated, leaving her a shaken mess with cold seeping into her bones.

“You can’t hide in your room forever”, Stella opens Y/N’s closet, her eyebrows raised as she inspects the contents. “The wounds will heal, but your closet might need some help.”

“My fashion sense is superior to yours”, Y/N remarks lightheartedly.

Scoffing, Stella grabs a black dress off the hanger. “This is a monstrosity!”

“It’s my feel-good dress!” Y/N steals it back, holding it close to her chest. Sky used to love this dress: each thread, each stitch carries memories.

“You look badass in it”, he smirks. “Makes me think about all the things I’d like to do to you.”

Chuckling, Y/N places her hands on her hips. “Do tell”, she purses her lips. “Maybe we can come to an agreement on some of them.”

Blushing, Sky bites his lip. “Well, for starters”, he moves closer, pushing her back into a wall gently. “I’d make it so you’re near me”, he speaks quietly, his voice low and dark. Suddenly, he turns her around, pressing her hips into the wall as his fingers graze her tights, slowly pulling up the hem of her dress. “And then I’d kiss your neck”, his lips graze her ear before they find a home on the left side of her neck, nibbling lightly on the soft flesh. With his hands making way forward toward her inner thighs, Y/N lets out a few short breaths in anticipation. As his fingers brush her wet panties, Sky peels away from her body.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She asks, her eyes narrowing as his smile turns into a grin.

“Class”, Sky shrugs, heading to the door. Pausing, he turns to her with a cocky smirk. “But it’s good to know how wet I can get you in a matter of minutes.”

Throwing a pillow at his head, she growls as he ducks just in time and laughs at her. “JERK!”

“I’ll make it up to you”, he promises. “As long as you wear the dress.”

Stella’s gaze softens. She can tell how hard it is for Y/n, how lost her friend seems. Y/N is navigating in the dark, but Stella has the power to change it. “You’re getting that look on your face again.”

“What look?”

“The ‘I miss Sky’ look which can also be seen as the ‘I’m constipated’ look.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N places the dress back on the hanger. “I do not miss Sky and I am not constipated.”

“You’re emotionally constipated and you definitely miss Sky”, Stella insists. “No need to lie to me.”

Swallowing thickly, Y/N grimaces. “I miss my power.” Admitting it out loud seems like a crime, as if she’s saying she misses being an out of control monster that hurt people. Placing a hand over her heart, she chokes up. If she could put it into words, the pain that has taken a hold on her since it happened, she would. It’s as if someone locked her in a windowless room and shut off the light. The last time she felt any flicker of her power was when she was walking away from Sky. It’s the hardest thing she’s ever had to do – but it’s for his own good.

Nodding, Stella forces a smile. “It’s a good thing you’ll get it back.”

“There’s no guarantee”, Y/N frowns.

“Well, if you helped us with the Blood witches, maybe we’d have a guarantee.”

“I’m useless against them. Especially now,” Y/N remarks bitterly.

“At least you’re not cleaning toilets like Musa,” Stella tries to lighten to mood. “She’s become the janitor.”

Y/N gives a weak smile, appreciating the pep talk, but it’s not going to fix her struggles. “I’m not getting involved. But I could do with a short walk, if you’re so insistent.”

Stella nods, offering a reassuring smile. “I’ll take it!”

Glancing at her closet again, Y/N nibbles on her bottom lip as her eyes focus on the black dress. Sky did keep his promise that night. He kept it so good that she could hardly walk for two days after that. Shaking her head, she takes it in her hands again and gives it a good look.

“I look damn good in this dress and you’re about to eat your words.”

She was right. Stella had nothing but praise for the dress once it was on Y/N’s body. It fit her as if it was tailored to every curve Y/N has, something quite a few students noticed as they passed by her.

“I swear this was the fifth guy willing to risk his life and give you his number”, Stella exclaims. “If Sky gets his hands on them, they’ll be begging for a quick death.”

“Why?” Y/N presses her lips in a thin line. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore. There’s no reason for him to scare off others who’d like to get to know me.”

“He loves you”, Stella reminds her. “He’s never going to be okay with other men trying to get into your pants. Or under your dress in this case.”

Stopping by the lake, Y/N stares into the distance. “I’m not so sure you’re right about that.”

“Of course, I am! It’s Sky! The guy worships you!”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Y/N shakes her head. “He was scared of me,” she admits quietly. “He’s just hid it better than everyone else.”

“If that’s true, why has he been staring at you ever since we came out here?”

Glancing over her shoulder toward the specialists training, Y/N meets Sky’s gaze. The emptiness inside her aches. She can hardly breathe as her jaw clenches and the lump at the back of her throat grows. Shivering with the cold spreading through her, Y/N turns away.

“Are you shivering in this heat?!” Stella frowns.

Without a word, Y/N continues to walk but in a few steps her walk becomes a sprint until she reaches her dorm. Closing the door behind her, she locks it before falling to the floor. Gasping for breath, she claws at her throat as the sobs make their way through her and out into the world, filling the room with loud, barely human cries as Y/N comes to realize one thing she cannot admit out loud – it’s not her power she’s missing, it’s him. The echoes of their last argument haunt her every time she closes her eyes. Her fingers tremble as she clutches onto the black dress, a painful reminder of a time where Sky was by her side and the love that used to fill her heart wasn’t a hollow ache. She’s pushed him away, finally. It took a while but she won, he finally let her go. Sky watched her walk away and for once he didn’t follow.

Isn’t this what she always wanted? Isn’t Sky’s devotion an inconvenience? Wasn’t she always picking apart everything he’s ever said or done to justify her need to push him away?

As Y/N was breaking down under the weight of her emotions for the first time since their split, Sky was on the other side of the door, listening. He ran after her, desperately wanting to make sure she’s alright.

He didn’t see her in almost two weeks since their split, relying on updates about her state from Stella and occasionally Musa, hell even Riven saw her before he did. This time he wanted to talk to her personally, last thing he expected was to hear the gut-wrenching sound of her sobbing on the other side of the door. He’s listening, unable to tear himself away.

She might as well be in a different dimension to him now, that’s how distant she feel to him. Absolutely no bridges can be made when she refuses to even see him. But, if he’s being truly honest, he hasn’t sought her out either. In the time they’ve been apart, Sky focused on himself. More importantly, Sky focused on honing his skills and pushing away the pain of losing her.

Saul and he have both been iced out by Y/N, which had weirdly enough brought them closer together, fostering an unlikely bond Y/N would likely approve of.

He can walk away now, pretend he doesn’t hear the love of his life crying her heart out, but he doesn’t. His love for her won’t allow it. Instead, he sits with his back resting against the door frame, unable to stay away any longer, and finally speaks.

“Beatrix told me I should have let Andreas kill Saul.”

Silence falls heavy on his shoulders. The cries have stopped, stifled by the sound of his voice, but he can feel her tears still flowing. Just because she’s not bawling, doesn’t mean he can’t feel every tear she spills over him.

“Accused me of doing it on purpose, using Saul as an excuse”, he chuckles bitterly, still in disbelief over the ridiculousness of the accusation. “I think she forgets he was my dad too.”

Sniffling, Y/N unlocks the door. Sky shifts in surprise, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Part of him expected that perhaps him speaking would entice her to open up.

As she opens the door, she remains seated on the inside, crisscrossed. Her eyes are brimming with tears, red from irritation, and her face is blotchy, but she doesn’t seem to care about that. Her own pain is unimportant when Sky is hurting – something she’s always done.

“I knew you’d do that”, he sighs. Sitting with his legs crossed on the outside, he sniffles too. “I shouldn’t have followed you.”

“But you did”, she states.

“Do you know the girls tried using some sort of a convergence crystal to give Musa her power back?”

“It didn’t work”, she shrugs meekly.

“Maybe it would work if you were with them.”

Biting her lip, she frowns. “I don’t have any power to help anyone.”

“We both know that’s not true”, Sky gives her a pointed look.

“I don’t know what you mean”, she defends.

“Yes, you do.”

Y/N shakes her head. “Have you been drinking? I can smell the booze on your breath.”

“Why ask questions you know answers to?”

“Because I hoped you’d tell me I was wrong.”

“You are wrong”, he quips. “You’re wrong for ending things with me.”

“You don’t need me.”

Letting out a heavy breath, Sky runs a hand through his hair. “It’s not about need, Y/N. It’s about wanting and loving and I both want and love you. I’m just tired of chasing you and being met with a million of these doors and invisible lines I cannot cross.”

He’s tearing himself raw for her, the ache in his chest so unbearable it’s like the very air is suffocating him. It’s all he can do – be honest and be present.

“You’re right”, she says quietly serving as a knife to his already bleeding heart. “So, give it a rest.”

“I killed my dad”, Sky spits out through gritted teeth. “I had to wonder if you’re going to survive too and to hate myself for being the reason you were even there to begin with.”

“I made my choice that night because I wanted to make sure you’re safe”, Y/N remarks. But when she continues her voice is laced with regret and bitterness. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save Andreas too. I was weak. And now I’m nothing.”

“You’re never nothing”, Sky’s quick to correct her. “To me, you’ll always be everything.”

Nodding, she doesn’t reply. What’s the point? Whatever she says, he’ll counter it with the exact opposite…the opposite she doesn’t believe in. It’s like talking to a wall.

“I did hear you”, she whispers, her voice breaking as truth spills from her lips. “It was a flicker of power, but I haven’t felt it since. It’s quiet”, she points to her temple. “Nothing happens in here anymore.”

“You miss it?”

“All the fucking time.” Tucking her hair behind her ears, she sighs with sorrow and longing. “And I miss you.”

“You don’t have to miss me”, his words are a desperate plea. “Say the word and I’ll cross this barrier”, he points to the doorstep, the barrier she had set.

“The problems we had aren’t so easily solvable.”

“Had”, Sky repeats with hope.

“I’ll get my magic back”, Y/N furrows her brows. “I know I will.”

“Is that what you want?” Sky swallows thickly, barely keeping himself together as he realizes just how fractured their seemingly unbreakable love is.

“Y-yes.”

“In that case, I hope you do get it back.” Sky looks down, finding it hard to keep eye contact. His heart is bleeding for this girl who seems to be tearing herself apart. They can fix each other, but she doesn’t allow that.

Nodding, she sniffles tears cascading down her cheeks. Wiping them away, she forces a smile. “Saul says you two are finding common ground.”

“We’ve got a problem.” Saul walks up to Sky. “You were drunk, weren’t you? Last night? That’s why you don’t remember.”

“Are you gonna lecture me?”

“No”, Saul sighs heavily. “You know, when I thought I killed Andreas, I got drunk for two years straight.”

“Yeah?”

“You were just a baby then. Y/N’s mom tried to sober me up and then you got older and I realized I had a job to do.” Pausing, Saul licks his lips, the memories are still vivid. “I’m still here, Sky. Still trying to do that job.”

“I know”, Sky sighs. “But I can’t train. Every time I pick up my sword I’m…”

“Back there. I know. It will pass. It’s going to take time and it will not be easy, but when it comes time when you need to fight to protect someone you love, you will fight.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“I picked my sword up for you, Sky. You’ll pick it back up for someone too.”

“Y/N”, he nods, the thought of her giving him strength. “If someone threatened her, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

“What does she have to say about it all? Have you even talked to her?”

“I haven’t even seen her since she walked away from me. She’s avoiding me.” Sky shrugs, attempting to hide the true depth of pain he’s been in. “What would I tell her? That I was hoping I would have some sort of redemption with my dad? With her? That we’d have a future?”

“See, that’s your problem. You try to predict your future, but we’re soldiers Sky. We don’t get to make predictions.”

Scoffing, Sky takes a step back, frustrated. “That’s fucked up.”

“Life’s fucked up. And guess what? It doesn’t give a shit about your plans. Once you come to terms with that, you become unshakable.”

How can he ever come to terms with that? To accept he might never have the life he wants with Y/N? That all those nights they spoke sweet nothings to each other about their plans are best to be forgotten?

Sky wants a proper life: he wants to marry Y/N, to have kids together, to be able to breathe without living on borrowed time.

“All great fighters are unshakable, Sky. We make peace with those we love every day, because we know tomorrow it could all be gone.”

“So, I’m meant to go through life in a constant state of uncertainty?”

“Readiness”, Saul corrects

“And how did that work for you when you lost the one you love? Huh? You’re still mourning her, watching over her daughter. You’ve mourned my father for all this time and yet you think it made you unshakable?” Tapping Saul’s shoulder, Sky forces a smile, a fragile façade. “You think it works, or that it works for you, but that’s not the life I want to live.”

“We’re trying”, Sky nods. “It comes with ups and downs.” ‘Would be a lot easier if you were around.’

Swallowing thickly, she musters a fragile smile. “I know it’s hard, especially with all the what if’s about Andreas, but Saul has always been there for you,” her voice cracks. “He’s not your blood, but he is your family.”

‘You’re my family.’

“You just need to take time to heal and it’s gonna be fine.”

Pressing his lips in a thin line he nods faintly. “Time…yes.” A sad smile tugs at his lips as his eyes glide across her body. “You look really beautiful in that dress.”

Y/N reaches over the threshold, a trembling hand hesitating before Sky notices. But he does notice and he doesn’t hesitate, taking her hand in his before she has time to change her mind.

For a moment, they both half expected a jolt of electricity to shake them both upon contact, to reignite the spark that once held them so close. But it never comes. Nothing really happens…except Y/N doesn’t feel cold anymore. The empty spot in her chest is filled, even if for a few fleeting moments.

Because the sound of an explosion that caused them to separate had left her feeling empty again. In that moment, the world feels impossibly fragile, teetering on the edge of an abyss.

Sharing a worried look with Sky, Y/N’s the first to speak, fear and confusion evident in her eyes. “What the fuck was that?!”

PART 14

#sky x reader #sky fanfic #sky of eraklyon #sky of eraklyon x reader #fate the winx saga #fate the winx saga fanfiction #fate the winx saga fanfic #fate the winx saga fic #sky fate #sky fate the winx saga #sky angst #sky fic #sky fanfiction

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honey-worm · 2 months ago

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A fanfiction I wrote about 10 years ago. You can find it on Wattpad here https://www.wattpad.com/story/51392437-all-my-love🫶🏻 More chapters will be published soon! Tell your Harry friends about it!

**Please be aware that this story is RATED-R. Viewer discretion advised. It is full of ups and downs. A rollercoaster full of vulgar language, alcohol, sex, passion, kindness, confusion, pain, anger…but most importantly, love. I would like to warn you that it is a toxic relationship where love overpowers all. I do not advise that you romanticize toxic relationships in real life. This is strictly for entertainment purposes only. It has been a way to escape from the real world for me and to use my creativity. I want to proclaim that Harry is only used for his name, birthdate, and “frat boy era” appearance. This character is not based off Harry's real life personality and stardom. This character does not affiliate with the real Harry Styles.**

Rebecca Bowman is the soft and sweet type of girl. Her world is turned upside down as she finds herself in a sticky situation with one of her best friends, Harry Styles. She never would have thought she’d end up being friends with benefits with someone. That’s not how she values love… Only something in her changed as she decided it was time to move out and live with her best friend, Stella Paxton. Over the next year, she found herself mesmerized by Harry and his unusual, mysterious ways. He’s charming but arrogant. Sweet but angry. Cold but hot… All the traits her mother always warned her about as she was growing up. “Stay clear of the misunderstood and unemotionally available men, they’ll only cause you pain.” Angie would say. Rebecca knew she was in deep for a rude awakening once she made up that irresponsible label with one of her best friends.

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Viewer Discretion Advised For Mature Audiences Only 18+

Chapter Word Count: 2.7k Chapter Includes: Sex

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CHAPTER 72

| Flashback |

It's been three. Three months since driving to Harry's and telling him to give me experience. Little did I know that we'd end up doing something at least once a week, and if we're lucky, twice. At first it was a little strange doing all these sexual activities with him but the more we did it, the more I've grown really comfortable.

It's actually surprising how long we've kept it a secret from everyone. I'd like to brag about how well we keep it on the down low while sneaking around. Not even Stella has a clue and she's usually the first one on top of everything.

"I totally just whipped your ass in Mario-Kart once again!" Harry shoves it in my face as his character, Bowser, crosses the finish line in first place. For the sixth time I should add. I roll my eyes and frown when baby Peach comes in tenth.

"It's hard using the steering wheel." I huff, setting the white controller wheel on his coffee table. When I cross my legs on the couch, pushing my hair back, Harry turns off the game to switch on regular television.

Taking me off guard, Harry's hand lands on the inside of my thigh, slowly running his fingertips up and down. My skin rises, my stomach tenses, and the lump in my throat makes it hard to breathe from the sudden mood change. Our eyes stayed glued to the television, ignoring the fact that Michael could walk out of his room any second now.

Harry's fingers start dancing their way over to the front of my shorts, slowing down the pace they're going at. The feeling of his fingers messing with me, rubbing the outside of my clothes, are sending chills all over my body. I gulp when he puts more pressure, causing me to glance over at him who is glued to the TV screen in a smirk.

Just as I begin to shut off my mind, Harry's hand gets ripped off of me, clearing his throat the same time he repositions on the couch next to me. I look at him confused, wondering why he stopped but Harry's eyes gesture over. I look to where he pointed to and sure enough, Michael is walking over with his eyes on his phone.

"What are we watching?" Michael finally looks at the screen and then over at us, plopping down next to me. I look over at Harry, who then looks over at me with an annoyed look on his face over the fact that he just got interrupted. I exhale and sink more into the couch, crossing my arms while I keep my eyes on the TV screen.

•••

I walk out of guest bathroom that sits across the hall from Harry's bedroom, taking my time to get back in the living room. I'll be back with an annoyed, sexually frustrated Harry and a clueless Michael that still hasn't left to go hangout with someone. I remember he mentioned who that someone was but I was too distracted from the secret touch of Harry's pinky on the side of my leg to listen.

I do admit that I've been teasing Harry, which is probably why he's so grumpy about the fact that Michael's still in the room with us.

Whenever he was in the kitchen making a snack, I purposely got up to get a drink just so I could try to reach for a cup on the top shelf, giving him a good view of my body. Not to mention, me bending over as I looked in the fridge to get out the apple juice, knowing his eyes were glued to my butt. It only made me giggle when I'd look back at him. A tense jaw with a hard inhale before looking away to finish the preparation.

I look down at my nails, that are depressing from how much of the blue polish has chipped off. Without paying attention as I'm walking, I run into what feels like a brick wall. When my eyes meet what's in front of me, I see Harry smiling down at me.

"Watch where you're going, yeah?" He asks in a laugh and I squint, shoving at his shoulder only to look behind him for a second. I push him up against the wall, surprising Harry which helps my confidence. He breathes hard, deepening his eyes into mine as he stares down at me. He sucks in his lips with a raise of his chest the same time my small hands creep their way underneath the front of his shirt. My fingertips slowly glaze along top of his skin causing goosebumps to rise. When I palm his chest, I take notice how warm he is. No matter how cold it is inside or outside, his body holds heat better than anyone I know. I get up on my tip toes, hovering my lips over Harry's who licks his, yearning for me.

"Alright guys, I'll see you later!" Michael yells from the front door, interrupting my move to plant my lips against Harry's.

"Okay." Harry raises his voice loud enough as his eyes continue to burn holes in my mine. We wait for the door to shut and without a second to spare, Harry rips his shirt off and cups my face. Our lips connect, sparking the mood and I feel my back hit the wall the same time Harry pushes his body up against mine. My hands travel up and down his back, feeling his lips line my jaw before moving down to my neck.

"Harry." I pant out when he reaches my favorite spot. He hums against it in question and I swallow all my nerves down before running my fingers through the hair on the back of his head. "I'm r-ready." I manage to say and Harry quickly stands up straight.

"Ready?" Harry asks and I nod, biting my lip. "Like... To have sex?" Harry's emeralds are glistening from the pleasure of being turned on and I blink mine a couple time before stuttering a nod. "You need to speak Becca, nodding isn't good enough for me." Harry tells me with demand behind his voice and I part my lips. I know that, I just can't get myself to speak over the jittery feeling I'm going through.

The couple times I've told him I was ready, I backed out just as he was going to enter. I felt so bad each time I did. I thought I was ready like really really ready but the closer he got to entering, the more I became terrified. I think I'm more scared of how it's going to feel than anything. I've heard it hurts like hell or that it doesn't or that it only hurts for a second. My pain tolerance isn't very high but I need to get it over with. I'm bored of just his tongue and fingers.

"Yes." I say in a whisper and he deepens the intensity with the stare. If we continue to stand here and gaze at each other, I know for sure I'll tell him to forget about it. I can't keep waiting.

"You have to be absolutely sure this time Becca. I-I'm not rushing you or trying to pressure you into it but this happened a couple times before and you ended up backing out." Harry tells me and I take a deep breath.

"I know, I know. But I'm sure, for real this time. I want to." I speak with confidence and holding our eyes in a lock. "Please?" I add and he licks his bottom lip trying to hide a smirk but it appears. Harry doesn't say a word, he only scans my face before staring at my lips, planting his on mine seconds later. His tongue pries it's way into my mouth, battling against my own as he picks me up by my thighs to walk us to his room.

As I'm laying down on Harry's bed, with him hovering me, I can't help but promise myself that I won't let this get to me. The way you see it in movies or in books. 'You'll be attached to the person you have sex with.' It's just sex. Everyone has casual sex. I won't fall in love. I can't. I won't. We agreed there'd be no strings attached. Just like he has said, shut off the mind, let the body take control. I'm capable of that.

Harry lifts my shirt off above my head, tossing it on the floor. I watch as his eyes eat up my chest while he unbuttons his jeans with a tense jaw. I do him the favor of sitting up and unhooking the back of my bra. The straps fall down my shoulders before I let it finally fall all together.

No turning back, my subconscious reminds me.

My cheeks become a sudden shade of red because of the parted lips I'm getting from Harry. He's only seen my breasts once before and it was an accident. I stepped into my room after a shower and sure enough, Harry was sitting on my bed. I wasn't even expecting him and I definitely wasn't expecting to drop my towel from the startle.

"Stop being so shy. You're fucking hot." Harry tells me in a husky voice above my lips and I swallow hard as I start laying back again. He follows, skipping the lip to lip action and immediately leaving soft pecks all over my neck.

Goosebumps rise and I let out a moan before my mind can keep up from the sensation of being underneath him.

No strings attached.

His touch is magical. Magnificent even. I always have to remind myself that this isn't a dream and that his touch is actually happening in real life. Out of nowhere his left hand grabs ahold of one of my breasts, gently massaging the same time he sucks at my neck. It sends a shot of electricity through my body and another quick moan falls off my lips.

I honestly didn't think it'd feel as good as it does by but here I am again being proven wrong. Harry's mouth leaves my mouth and starts with sloppy kisses all over my chest, kissing the top of the breast he just massaged. His lips move to my other, kissing around my nipple slowly while his left hand slides down my stomach. I start to arch my back from the bed because of the new feeling of breast play but his hand pushes me back down.

Just as I thought nothing could beat this new sensation, his mouth wraps itself around my nipple, causing me to look down at him. Holy crap. My heart is racing already.

Harry's eyes make their way up to mine and smirks against my breast, noticing my pleasurable reaction. It only encourages him. His tongue swipes across the top of my nipple while being in his mouth. My head falls back into the pillow, letting the feeling take over and I feel like my breathing is all over the place.

Not expecting it, Harry's hand is in my pants, working it's way in my panties and I shutter from the chill of his rings that never seem to leave his fore and middle finger. Harry's lips begin to plant salt and pepper kisses around the breast as his fingers make it my clit, moving in small circles. My jaw falls open and my eyes close just as his fingers move down my folds, teasing my entrance. No strings attached. I push my subconscious to the back of my mind. I thought I had already blocked her out.

"You respond to me so well. You're already so wet." Harry speaks low and my insides stir from the way his voice is raspy over each word. Harry gets up on his knees, fumbling my shorts, keeping his eyes on his hands. My eyes stay glued to his hands, growing anxious for what's going to happen any second now.

My shorts are ripped off along with my red panties, tossed with my other articles of clothing. Harry licks his lips, staring down at my area as he spreads my legs apart. As much as I'd like to be shy in this moment, the look in Harry's eyes is too appealing to start now. He gets off the bed and walks over to the nightstand and opens up the top drawer, picking up a box of condoms. My eyes stay on him while he takes one out and tosses it back into the drawer. "Open this." Harry hands the condom wrapper to me and takes his pants off, watching me do as I'm told. I hear Harry spit and look over at him, now stroking himself before getting back on the bed. No turning back. I gulp as he again spreads my legs and he takes the lubricated latex away from me. "I'm going to ask you one more time before I put this on, are you sure you're ready?" Harry asks, locking our eyes and I nod staring at his now red lips. "Use your words."

"Yes I'm sure." I squeak out and he nods once before rolling the condom down on himself.

"No strings attached." Harry then says, taking me off guard.

"No strings attached." I mock him with a smug look and he smirks.

Suddenly my nerves are through the roof, my body is on fire, and my breathing is skipping rhythm. My eyes are stuck staring up at the ceiling and the thoughts rush through my mind, wondering if this is a bad idea or not. I want this. I know I do but why do I have to be so scared? I trust Harry more than most guys, let alone people, but this is about to happen. My virginity is about to be taken from one of my best friends.

"Becca, look at me." I hear Harry's voice and my eyes shoot to his. He notices my nerves and leans forward, hovering over me to give me a few kisses to calm them down. His lips drag down my chest and stomach before going back to sit up on his knees. "Relax." Harry whispers, running both of his hands slowly up and down each inner thigh of mine. I close my eyes and inhale holding it for five seconds before exhaling. "Just tell me to stop and I will."

"No." I spit out instantly and a belly laugh escapes Harry.

"There's a possibility it will hurt so please tell me when you need me to stop." He says, his voice low. I nod only to correct the nod with a vocal okay. "I promise you, you'll be okay." Harry licks his lips, spreading my legs a little bit more before positioning himself in front of me. I feel the half cold half warm latex rub against me, warning me that any second he'll be entering. I don't even know if I'm really breathing right now. I'm so anxious, scared, but honestly really excited all at once. My emotions are flying, giving me no time to know which one I'm actually feeling.

I try to take a deep breath as Harry begins to slide himself in but a sharp gasp falls out the farther he enters. This is happening. This is really happening, he's inside me. The pain of the foreign size causes tears to prick my eyes and I squeeze them shut before gripping the sheets to help relieve my tension.

"Am I hurting you?" Harry asks with concern and I shake my head as I bite down on my tongue at the uncomfortable pressure. Harry moves at a slow pace, making sure I'm not completely overwhelmed from this whole new thing we're doing. I'm thankful he isn't being harsh about it. I've heard way too many times by old friends and Stella that most guys just go for it, not even making sure they're enjoying it. So being the one in bed with Harry is relief in itself.

A million thoughts are running through my head but not one can I process. Harry's being so gentle, almost so loving from the way he's handling this for me. It has me thinking about his first time. I never asked or care to really know. "I'm going to move a little faster, okay?" Harry's hands touches my cheek. "You're tight from being nervous so I need to get used to you." He informs me, moving his hand to the top of my head and running it over repeatedly in comfort. I gulp and just let my body take over, feeling him pick up the speed.

| End of Flashback |

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timechange · 6 months ago

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MCFLY JULY ‘24 — dave’s night off.

DECEMBER 14, 1985, 7:46 PM

“Okay, McFly, focus. You got this.”

Marty’s staring at the pristine living room wall, hands drumming his thighs. The familiar motions help him to think, be calm.

“Nobody knows what happened to the boat that Grandpa Artie gave Mom and Dad,” he begins, like he’s studying for a history test in the garage, “but that doesn’t mean it’s gone, it’s just… in storage… somewhere. Uh… Grandma Sylvia’s crochet blanket is in your room. It smells like her perfume, not popcorn, and that’s okay, ‘cause you miss her anyway and you need to call her soon. Nobody knows what the hell happened to Grandpa Sam’s scratchy plaid couch with the busted up cushions and Grandma Stella’s quilt’s in Mom’s hope chest… she thinks.”

“The weird modern art thing Mom and Dad picked up on… their honeymoon?...” He smacks his forehead, running a hand through his hair. “Dammit, no, not their honeymoon, it was their anniversary, their tenth anniversary. Dad replaces the flowers in the vase with fresh ones every week for Mom. There’s a million throw pillows on the couch so I guess nobody sits there anymore?…”

He rubs the back of his neck.

“Uh… kitchen. Right. We got the good chips and the good cereal, not the store brand, but... only one box ‘cause I’m the only one that still eats that junk. Everybody else has… bran and muesli and shit.”

He sighs.

“Photos…” Marty picks up an immaculate frame. “This is from Dave’s tenth birthday trip to Disneyland but you were five so it’s okay you don’t remember anything.” He stares at the family in the photo; a happy mom, a charming dad, three beautiful kids, the littlest one with a grin that looks like it’s about to break his tiny face in half. He thumbs over the glass. “I’m sorry, kid. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I hope you’re okay… whenever you are.” He sets the photo back down.

“We’ve been to Knott’s Berry Farm, Florida, New York…” They keep asking him where he wants to go after graduation and he’s beginning to run out of ways to stall.

“At least Long Beach still happened,” Marty continues. “Jen remembers, so do the guys. And you got the album and the poster and the t-shirt to prove it, so—“

“What the hell?”

“Jesus Christ!” Marty jumps, whirling around to meet his older brother’s eyes. “Dave, you scared the shit out of me! What are you doin’ home? It’s Saturday! You’re supposed to be out with the guys from the office!”

He’d had it all planned: Dave was supposed to be out, Linda was working late and then had a date, and his parents were off at the Baxters’ Christmas party. He thought it was safe.

“Oh, I scared the shit out of you?” Dave retaliates. “And yeah, it’s Saturday, but it’s the week before Christmas, genius! Maybe I’m supposed to, I don’t know, hang out with my kid brother!”

“I-I’m sorry, Dave,” Marty sighs, deflating, hanging his head and sticking his hands in his pockets. “I just…”

“You gonna tell me what that was all about?” Dave asks, putting his hands on his shoulders. Even without looking up, Marty can feel his brother’s eyes on him, searching.

There’s a long moment of silence.

“‘At least Long Beach still happened?’” Dave prompts. “Of course it happened! That stupid concert was all you talked about for months!”

Marty manages a smile, before it falls.

“You ever feel like you’re goin’ crazy, Dave?” he ventures. “Or maybe… like the world is? I-I know it doesn’t make sense, but…”

“Of course it makes sense,” Dave cuts him off with a sigh. “I was seventeen too, y’know.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Marty laughs, “you were kinda the worst.”

“Sure I was, I was a pain in the ass,” Dave agrees. He tilts Marty’s head up with his finger like their mom used to and gives him a smile. “You’re not crazy, Marty. I’ll tell you what’s happening. Senior year is makin’ you screwy and I know you haven’t been sleeping.”

“I-I haven’t,” Marty admits.

“So, here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna order pizza, you’re gonna kick my ass at Nintendo while we wait, and then we’re gonna watch a movie. Okay?”

“…Pepperoni with extra cheese?”

“Duh. What am I, a monster?”

“Okay.” Marty smiles as Dave ducks into the kitchen to order. “Hey, Dave…?”

“Yeah?” He sticks his head out, receiver already up to his ear.

“…Thanks.”

Dave winks.

“Anytime, Marty. Anytime.”

DECEMBER 14, 1985, 11:29 PM

Dave turns the volume on the TV down, opting to watch the rest of the VHS on as close to mute as possible. He sets the remote down, turning his attention to his sleeping brother, curled into his side like a little kid. He ruffles his hair, sighing.

Normally, he’d tease Marty when he’d wake up about how he took photos or something stupid like that, or he’d just carry him up to bed, but things hadn’t been normal for months now. Something happened, he didn’t know what, and at least if he was right here he could watch him and make sure he was okay.

The front door opens and he recognizes his sister’s footsteps, the way she slips off her heels and the jingle of her keys and handbag as she sets them on the counter. She walks into the living room, about to say something, but Dave raises his free hand to his lips in a shushing motion.

Linda takes in the scene, then sits down on Dave’s other side. She grabs the remote, starts rewinding White Christmas, then leans her head on Dave’s shoulder as the movie starts to play.

#drabble tbt.#mcflyjuly #mcfly july ‘24.#god this one is so long but i’ve been waiting for this one since the month started #i have So much need for more mcfly sibling bonding i’ll forever be mad we didn’t get much #dave is a good big brother and linda is a good big sister and marty loves them both so much…#the concert he’s talking about is live after death… that ones for you ali 💕#dave & linda tbt.#long post #long post tw #dissociation tw #depersonalization tw #queue. this is heavy.

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sleepingdeath-light · 2 years ago

Text

blowing off steam ; 18+

requested by ; personifiedpyramidcorner

word count ; 1759

content ; one night stand, dirty talk, degradation, mummy kink, dom!stella, reader still has a penis/she hasn’t had bottom surgery (as stated in original request), reader’s genitals are described as “dick”, “length” and “sex” in case any of those terms are dysphoric for you

fandom ; helluva boss

pairing ; stella goetia x trans woman!reader

read also on ; ao3

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

"You're so fucking pathetic," Stella began, pacing circles around you as you knelt at her feet in the middle of the cheap hotel room, "but at least you know how to do what you're told. Don't you?"

You moved to nod in response, but the aristocrat tutted and seized your chin between her thumb and forefinger, sharp nails digging into your skin as she forced you to meet her eye.

"When I ask you a question, I expect a proper response. Try again,"

"Yes, mummy,"

She smirked darkly at that and released her grip on your face, her movements uncaring and harsh and almost sending you falling backwards onto the rough carpet. Then, smoothing out the feathers on her head, she gestured loosely towards the bed and spoke up in a nonchalant tone.

"Good girl, now strip and get on the bed," and when you hesitated, she glared down at you and spat out an aggressive, "don't make me repeat myself."

And, not wanting to face her wrath (and craving more of her rare praise), you moved to comply. Stumbling clumsily to your feet and hurriedly removing what remained of your daywear — which, given you both being in the Lust ring, wasn't all that much. One by one you unbuttoned and unbuckled the various straps and articles that obscured your body from her scrutinising gaze: your leather harness, translucent bra, lacy thigh highs, tucking underwear and even your choker were all tossed to one side into an uncaring, messy pile of mixed fabrics on the floor. You could feel her eyes following you throughout, dark irises taking in every new inch of skin that you bared to her, admiring and daring you to disobey before you finally shuffled your way onto the thin mattress and laid down on what felt like the centre.

Wilfully ignoring the feeling of a loose spring digging into your shoulder as you watched her approach the bed. Approaching you with an unreadable expression and her arms folded elegantly across her chest as she spoke in that same dark tone that had waves of heat rushing to your core.

"It's nice to have someone actually listen to what I say," Stella began, titling her head to one side as her eyes scanned over your nude form, lingering on your sex for a few moments before flitting back up to meet your gaze, "it's a shame that you're so easy to get off. Aren't you ashamed of how fucking desperate you look? How you don't know anything about me but you're already this hard," she reached down and wrapped a hand around the base of your length and you gasped, "and practically begging me to fuck you. It's sad, really, and if you were in the Pride ring you'd be a fucking laughing stock," she began to slowly pump her hand from foot to tip and you were desperately trying to stop yourself from bucking up into her hand, "well, that or the latest toy. I know a lot of people that would love to have an obedient little cum slut tending to their every whim, always eager to please her mummy,"

Her words were bitingly cruel and bitterly cold, but you couldn't help yourself but to keep moaning and whimpering under her attention. The combination of slow, mounting pleasure and unending verbal degradation was making your mind go blank — which the demoness soon noticed and took full advantage of.

"Honestly look at yourself; how much you're getting off from the barest of touches. Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Have you only been with people who are shit in bed or are you just this sensitive?" Then she gasped with a feigned epiphany and leaned over your body so that she could whisper directly into your ear. "Or am I the best fuck you've ever had?"

The only response you could muster was a whimper and the other woman huffed at that and paused her ministrations — righting her fist around your tip so that you were keening and crying out in a mixture of pain and frustration. Your eyes flew open and you noticed her obvious expectations and corrected yourself accordingly.

"You're the best, mummy, sorry mummy,"

And then she smirked and pecked you on the cheek in a show of faux affection but she didn't continue. No, instead she took a moment to smear the leaking precum over your throbbing head with the pad of her thumb before removing her hand entirely — slowly moving to mount you on the bed and positioning you at her dripping entrance.

"You're gonna show me and everyone else in this hotel how fucking desperate you are for me." she finally began, glaring down at you through her long eyelashes as you whimpered and bucked your hips up against her, "So if you want me to fuck you, you're gonna beg for it and you'd best do a good job or I might just leave you here for someone else to find and take care of. Or maybe you'd like that?"

With the tantalising promise of pleasure and climax so close, you felt what little resolve you had crumbling away as you tearfully looked up at the demoness and began to whimper out pleas for her to touch you. Only for her to demand more: louder, longer, more desperation.

No one "please mummy" was good enough. Every "fuck me, mummy, please" was met with tutting and a threat of her leaving. Each "I need you" was instructed to be louder.

Louder and louder until there were tears streaming down your face and you were screaming out your pleas and digging your fingers into the many skirts of her dress. Begging her to touch you, to move, to let you cum — please, please, please.

"... please mummy!"

And then it was finally, finally, enough for her as she gave a response that had you sobbing with relief before she allowed herself to sink down and take all of your throbbing dick in a single fluid movement. Not giving you the time to recover — from her action or her words — before she started to move, bouncing on your length whilst placing two hands on your shoulders to keep you in place and steady herself.

Taking full control of the pace whilst you were still reeling from being called her "good girl" and unable to do anything but cling to her waist and moan and cuss and whine. Moan out her name and title in the same breath when she rolled her hips down against yours between thrusts; whimper out an incoherent string of pleas when she paused at your tip before sharply descending and taking all of you in a single movement; crying out whorishly whenever you managed to match her pace and she'd reward you with a hushed moan and another rare bit of praise between the constant commentary about your sluttish nature and needy disposition.

Alternating between fast and slow, shallow and deep, but consistently rough and hitting all of the right places for you and her. And when she allowed you to reach beneath her skirts to toy with her clit, everything got even better, somehow — even as her pace began to falter.

You could feel her tightening and fluttering around you more and more with every thrust and bounce, the shift matching with her increase in volume as her dirty talk and moans got louder and louder — and as her nails started to dig into your collarbone to steady herself. She was getting close and you weren’t far behind, the coil in your abdomen tightening in time with the blurring and blotting of your vision as you were wracked with wave after wave of white hot pleasure, need spurred on by both her words and the feeling of her warm, wet pussy swallowing you over and over again.

“That’s it, good girl,” she sighed when you reached up with a tentative hand to start playing with her nipples through the bodice of her shirt, “just like that,”

“You’re already pulsing, hah, are you going to cum already?” She mocked in the shape of a breathy moan, unable to keep her eyes open as her head fell back. “You must really like being used, isn’t that right?” And when you confirmed in a whimper she moaned even louder.

A string of insults escaped her as her voice got breathier and her moans got louder — a sound that mixed beautifully with the wet slapping of your fucking and your own plentiful moans and groans and sighs. Until, finally, she snapped, climaxing with a cry of “oh god” as she soaked you and collapsed forwards, unable to keep up the pace through the haze of her release — relying entirely on you to take the lead as you grasped at her waist and began to clumsily thrust up into her, overwhelmed with your own mounting orgasm as you tried to help her prologue her own high.

Though, thankfully, you didn’t need to deny yourself for long, as Stella was quick to regain some semblance of her composure as she worked you up to the edge and pulled you out just as you came. Jerking your length lazily as you spilled your release all over your thighs and stomach, praising and degrading you in equal measure as you moaned and sobbed and called out for her with such earnest desperation that it made her smile.

Heart pounding. Lungs burning. Skin slick with sweat. Dick throbbing. Limbs turning to jelly and falling limply onto the bed.

Too much and not enough. Craving her even as she carefully guided you as you came down from your high. Unusually tender for the briefest of moments as she checked you were alive.

In the afterglow, as you thanked her appropriately (with a fitting “thank you, mummy”), she’d just nodded and adjusted her dress and feathers — looking herself over a few times in the streaky mirror just adjacent to the bed. Not really acknowledging you as she tried to rid herself as best she could of the evidence of your encounter — not wanting to sully her reputation as her ex husband had.

And, still overwhelmed and slightly fucked-out, you couldn’t bring yourself to care — not when you were still reeling from the best fuck of your life. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was a shortage of demons in the Lust ring who were up for a quick fuck, so you just smiled and watched her walk away, muttering about her ex and reputations and assassins all the way.

#sleepingdeath #helluva boss x reader #trans fem reader #trans woman reader #helluva stella x reader #smut #minors dni #minors fuck off #helluva boss smut #smut fic #read warnings in the content section

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foreverozziessongbird · 1 year ago

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I would love to get these connections filled.

I've also listed the connection's they would have with my character~!

Asmodeus - Boss, ex-lover. The two do remain to have sexual encounters with one another which do involve Fizzarolli. Atia is mad loyal to Ozzie, as much as she hated him for signing her over to Valentino, she still remains loyal to him. {Open}

Fizzarolli - on & off again relationship, friend, has a love hate relationship. The two of them tend to get the best of one another at times. Atia tends to become her weakest around him and Ozzie for unknown reason's. His name is also etched into her left inner thigh. {Open}

Robo Fizz - same as Fizzarolli, more of a protector when she's in Loo Loo Land. {Open}

Blitzo - Fling, best friend, she's more protective of him when around the Overlords, someone counts on. The two have a close understanding with one another, far more than anything. As she has told him about what has happened in her past, specially with the whole situation with her parents. {Closed @thesilent-o }

Millie - Friend, the two have a tendancy to freak out about going to Loo Loo Land when either one suggest going to the theme park. {Open}

Moxxie - Friend, tries to give him advice about dealing with Blitzo's sheinanigans. {Open}

Loona - looks to her like a daughter, but also a close friend as she knows that Blitzo can be a handful at times, specially when he's drunk. So Atia will do her best to help the Hellhound out in anyway she possibly can. {Open}

Stolas - Close & best friend. Has known each other since childhood. Protective over each other for reasons. He knows of what transpired with her parents, and he does reassure her that her parents do love her. Mainly her mother, even though her mother is dead. He still reminds her that her mother had loved her, even if she was the reason she died. {Closed @goetiia }

Mammon - Ex-boss. Atia got her name known by working for Mammon for a couple of centuries before giving her over to Asmodeus. {Open}

Stella - Enemy. The two really don't get along with one another. They constantly fight over Stolas, specially when they were youngsters as Atia didn't think Stella was the right pick for Stolas. {Open}

Octavia - friend, looks to like a daughter. Atia does try to pull Octavia away from her parents when ever the two are arguing. She has even gave the owlette her number in case she needed to escape from them. Atia has even given Octavia tickets to go see the band "Fuck you dad". {Open}

Striker - Enemy turned close friend, bodyguard. Striker had met Atia when he was out on a contract to kill a demon that frequented Ozzie's. At first the two didn't see eye to eye with one another, but after some time they did. Though, Atia does often lecture Striker on his kills, specially when she found out that Stella hired him to kill Stolas. He often goes with her to the human world, but that's only to keep her safe from the idiot humans. Or at least that's what he says. {Open}

~More will be added once these are filled~

#helluvabossrp #connections

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marble-running · 1 year ago

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okay preliminary thoughts:

Aisha has the best design by far. Personally I'm not to fond of all the bright colours, they clash a bit to me, but I could buy her wearing something like that, it fits the athleisure vibe most of her casual outfits went for. 8.5/10

Bloom is. fine. I like her skirt. I do think they should've put her in yellow, or at least something other than pink, since all of them sans Musa have at least something pink. Kind of reminds me of the cowgirl outfits from s8. 5/10

Flora seems to be ok. The jacket bothers me. I think I see what they were trying to do with the sleeves being like flowers, but to me it just doesn't really work, and I couldn't really picture Flora wearing it. Obligatory comment about Flora always having the same hairstyle. The dress is cute tho. 6.5/10

Musa's done pretty well. They put red back into her colour scheme and I am very grateful for that, she really stands out against the sea of pink, blue and green. Not sure what's going on with her top but maybe that's just the low quality image. Also they seem to have returned to her having shorter hair. Excellent. And the mesh gloves are a really nice touch. The whole thing reminds me of her s5 casual outfit. 7.5/10

Stella. Stella Stella Stella. Absolutely got the worst design, it's giving 2010s disney channel mean girl. Which does not bode well for Stella's characterisation. I swear if they have her be the mean girl I will be forced to throw hands. The pigtails could be a callback to her og Magic Winx hairstyle, but tbh they just make her look more childish. 2/10

Tecna isn't getting done dirty by a later season's character design? What is this??? I feel like the colour scheme could use some work (maybe a bit more purple and less bubblegum pink), but I like that they've gone back to a more cyberpunk (?) vibe. The metallic skirt is an interesting detail. Also it look like she might have a prosthetic arm? Which would be cool. It looks like they copied Mirta's hairstyle though, points off for that (Tecna will always have a shaved side to me.). 7/10

All of them except Stella seem to have the same thick belts? Aisha, Flora and Bloom all have the same skirt style (mid thigh, low waistline), and it doesn't help the overall look.

Is the Black Circle the starter villain??? Either they've been severely nerfed, or they'll be replacing the Trix as they get more powerful as the Winx do. Either way, begs the question of what happened to the Trix.

Ngl that's a change I think has potential, since Bloom is on Earth at the start. The producers have the advantage of being able to look back over the season as a whole and patch up any continuity errors caused by the later seasons, such as the lack of the Fairy Hunters in seasons 1-3 despite all the blatant fairy activity on Earth. Maybe the Black Circle don't have to replace the Trix, but they could be set up earlier on.

What are the chances we get some gay shit this time around?

#winx club #winx club season 9 #they can only go up right?

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conkniving · 2 years ago

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❄️ :)

years ago, on the brink of adulthood —

those nights felt limitless. especially in the winter. despite the cold, which would surely worsen in the height of the season and bite up their dark excursions, two figures did not feel it between the black mitts on hands that were no less nimble and the rye vodka heating beneath the skin. even before half the transparent bottle had been drained, they felt the high that came with petty burglary; nicking the alcohol within the leather lapels of a coat for the price of a pack of gum as one played decoy. now, they wandered aimlessly, rosy cheeked and laughter pealing down empty streets, a little less caring of the judgments that increased by the day of the two solidifying into their ‘trouble-maker’ roles.

a playground sat like a skeleton embedded partially into a wintry grave, becoming momentary host to fallon as she ambled into the mounds of snow ploughed from roads and sidewalks. a question filtered through the chilly air on what they should do next when a impact of sparse force met between her shoulder blades, serving little more than a second’s puzzlement before the thai turned with a grin. stella was a couple yards back and poised with a matching grin of her own, gearing up another snowball in her palms.

“you bitch,” fallon jeered fondly. the vodka plopped into the bank ( and would be a fun game to find later ) as she dropped toward the snow in a hurry to arm herself. it was only loosely solidified when another hit contacted her shoulder, bits of snow kissing coldly on her cheek. leaning into her front foot, she tried her hardest to deliver a mean swing but her counterpart was too agile, dodging with breadth to spare. scooping up for another, fallon attempted to juke from her vantage point, successfully skipping out of the way with a sharp “ha!”

the snowball fight was relatively brief. hits landed on each of them, snarking back and forth, as the distance shortened between them in the throes of harsher deliveries. the ball in fallon’s hands was barely a shape when a final blow nailed her dead centre in the face, the only damage meeting as a flash of cold across the features before quickly melting away. through the flakes on her lashes, she lunged forward with a war cry, arms finding purchase around the lean frame of her best friend, shoulder driving into the abdomen ( purposefully without hurt, at least no more than they were accustomed to sharing ). together in a tackle, they tumbled into the airy crunch of fresh snow, stella’s hands already seeking retribution along fallon’s back so that she could throw her off. and before she could, fallon sat back on her knees above, taking a handful of white and smearing it into the laughing face below yelling, “fffallo-ngh!”

a knee sank into her thigh, shoving fallon off to the side so that stella could sit upward and wipe the slush away.

“truce?”

“truce. let’s see if we can find the vodka.”

#( inbox. )#( ft. stella )#alcohol tw #had to do a flashback of somewhat simpler times :')

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soulstagger · 2 months ago

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"You're sturdy, I'm almost getting myself carried away playing with you." Kazuko pushes hard against her, eyes slightly keeping an eye on the shrine maiden as dust settles.

Already red can be seen, like Stella who suffered nearly the same cut and the same sort of attack to the ribs, the crash of landing into the boxes delays Kiyoko's recovery a moment.

Kazuku wrestles control that knife that Stella offers, though she is somewhat stuck to Stella after stabbing herself and the assassin, Kazuko still has enough focus to throw said knife towards Kiyoko before trying to deal with Stella.

The shrine maiden tries to stand before the knife hits her in the shoulder, causing her to fall forward a moment more. In the time she takes to get up, Kazuko can feel Stella's third knife drive into her thigh.

A heavy swing of her head back to hit Stella in the face before Kazuko turns and throws her off, blade cutting more as it slides out of Stella before the assassin is thrown towards Kiyoko with incredible strength.

Kiyoko tosses her broken sword away to catch Stella, or at least ensure once she lands on her feet she doesn't fall to a knee. They're chance to escape showing as Stella's tag explodes as Kazuko pulls her own sword out of her waist.

It blasts her back into the wall and partly through it, leaving the pair a chance to make ground.

Already Kiyoko's hands are trying to help Stella more than herself, the stab wound in her gut, the one across her body just like Kiyoko's. "Let me soothe it while we move..."

Though she puts up a strong face, Kiyoko's only fresh off a recovery really, a month or so since full recovery without any training to really bounce back and now Stella's suffering wounds. Blood stains both of their clothing, a knife is still hanging from Kiyoko's far shoulder as they start to limp away.

Behind them rubble starts to move, and a soft but clearly happy laugh trickles out.

"Ha...ha ha.. Come on, drop the maiden.."

No one has stood yet but her voice feels clear, "You'll kill so much better without her. She's making you dull.. so dull."

The Rogue clicks her tongue as she feels her driving strike brought to a halt before she even sees it happen. She knows that doing so is no easy feat, especially when preoccupied by another attacker's strength, yet their assassin does so with seamless ease. Now the three are forced into a stalemate, any wrong moves, no matter how small, spelling death.

When Kazuko breaks the deadlock, Stella seizes her opportunity. An experienced killer does not let her target slip through her fingers. She digs the dagger deep, piercing flesh and hitting bone. She could end their anxiety here and now. But the shattering of metal steals her attention as she looks forward at Kiyoko's sword scattering every which way.

Stunned as she is, the spell is only broken by the wet sound of cut flesh and searing, stinging pain racing from her waist to her brain to scream. She braces herself, commanding her senses to endure the pain until the adrenaline of battle fades. Then her back hits a wall, knocking the air from her lungs briefly though not yet loosening her from Kazuko's back. She knows that if she falls, then both her and Kiyoko would be dead in seconds.

"Guh...! I'm not scared...! And I won't be losing her! Not to you, not yet!" There is a growl to her voice now as instinct begins moving to the forefront. Stella gives the to Kazuko so that she can free a hand to race back to her pockets to pull a new one tagged with a small explosive. She does not aim for the chest again, instead attempting to plant this one in Kazuko's thigh.

She knows this gamble may not end well for her or Kazuko. Though the explosive is small, it is strong enough to burn the target, still enough to hurt the limb, still enough to make Kazuko drag herself along as the two run away.

She positions her ribs over the hilt of the blade sticking from the killer's back, forcing it further in with her weight to distract from her new strike.

#;;Kazuko #;;Kiyoko #adventurersdelight

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charmixpower · 2 years ago

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Ok so now that I've officially seen all the explorer outfits, I have to say, I fucking love them!!!!

God fucking!!! Look at these

They're beautiful!!! I'm utterly obessed!!

(not sure which comic these are from sorry)

They are beauty, they are grace, they'll magic blast you in the face

I will now be ranking them in ascending order for funzies:

6) Musa

Her bangs look awkward, the breast pocket and zipper look odd, what is that thing on her arm, and if you look at her legs you'll notice her suit goes down to her feet and she's wearing heels over it

But absolutely god bless the return of the pigtails. Amen, everything I've ever wanted

It's still really really cute, just the least cute to me

5) Bloom

High ponytail Bloom will always been inferior to braids Bloom in my heart and soul but this is super super cute!! It looks more....fashionable and....Stella-y than I think og Bloom would wear, especially with the gloves, hair, and thigh highs, which is throwing me off, but it's still gorgeous

Good for her, good for her

4) Flora

OH MY FUCKING GOD SHE HAS PIGTAILS!!!! SHE AND MUSA ARE TWINSIES RN!!!! SHUT UP THIS IS SO CUTE!!!

And has the same shoe problem as Musa, but I'm completely and utterly obessed with Flora in a jumper sooooo

The thigh highs are really cute too, if your ignore the shoes, but baby, why do they keep doing that to y'alls bangs?? That much swoosh is unnecessary

3) Aisha

Aisha about has the worst case of swoopy bangs out of them all

They intentionally go down to cover the middle of her forehead, it's driving me crazy

I know this is probably just a me thing, I can't stand hair touching my face and I wear headbands 24/7, but just seeing her hair makes me wanna fix it for her so it isn't touching her forehead anymore

Aside from that this outfit is perfect

Look at her cowboy boots, look at her jumpsuit

She's going on a fucking adventure, god I love her

2) Tecna

AHHHHHHH!!! HOT TECH GIRL SHIT TIME BAYBEE!!!

Everything about this, I love everything about this

The fact that she's wearing a jacket and shorts over her jumper, in true stylish weird girl fashion. Her swoosh gets a pass from me bc it looks really cool. Her boots look the most practical are actually high boots, and she's covered in belts!!!!

Fucking PEEK Tecna right here

1) Stella

OH MY GOD OHHHH MY GOD!!!

This is better than I ever would of expected

This is gorgeous

This is a home run, a slam dunk, a touchdown, other sports phases

Absolute fuckin banger of an outfit

This and dreamix understand the untapped potential that is Stella in red. Her and green or red just �� so amazing

Her boots are actually connected to her jumper, which is super pretty and fashion and surprisingly practical for her. She's covered in little fashion belts, she has a little harness (!!!!!!), and reinforcements on her outfit. Her earrings match, which I don't think was a priority but it's amazing anyways, and most of all she's wearing a shirt underneath the protective material, likely for fashion reasons because it really does tie the whole look together

Not a single aspect of this outfit is slipping, and I love it so much

#rus chatters #winx season 5 #winx club #winx musa #winx bloom #winx flora #winx aisha #winx layla #winx tecna #winx stella #rus rants

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mldrgrl · 2 years ago

Text

Property of Stella Gibson

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG-13 Pairing: Stella Gibson/Hank Moody Summary: Becca has a new man in her life and Hank will just have to accept it.

Hank dialed Stella’s cell phone for the third time in under ten minutes and his frown deepened when it once again went straight to voicemail. He’d already left two messages and he took a drink of his Coke as he waited through the greeting to leave another.

“This is torture, Sherlock, sheer and utter torture. First of all, it’s Brooklyn. Second of all, the free food and drink options are limited to soft drinks and gluten free crackers with some kind of vegan bean dip. Third of all, I’m standing in front of a photograph of two people sharing an umbrella and it’s actually such a good fucking photograph that I’m infuriated. This kid is so talented it makes me want to kick his ass even more, so all I’m saying is that you better show up soon because in my hangry state of mind I’m bound to do something that would probably have me arrested in at least 49 states. I’m just assuming killing your daughter’s boyfriend is legal in Texas for some reason. Where are you? Call me back.”

Hank hung up the phone and narrowed his eyes at the photograph he was looking at. He took another drink of his Coke and considered the ramifications were he to throw the drink at the display. Becca would probably never speak to him again. Someone in the gallery was also bound to catch it on film with his luck and he’d be going viral on whatever the social media platform du jour was as Crazy Boomer Has Meltdown. He’d be canceled immediately. He missed the good old days when he could be a professional fuck-up and not worry about being held accountable for his actions.

His chest hurt and he pushed a fist against his sternum and belched under his breath. He needed air. He needed his wife. There was a trash can next to the door and he tossed his drink on the way out. He stood on the sidewalk with his hands jammed into his jeans pockets and looked up at squat little brick buildings he was surrounded by that had once been factories, but had been repurposed as lofts and bars and galleries and thrift shops. He closed his eyes against the cacophony of music and voices and sirens. He remembered that his father used to complain about the noise when he’d come to visit, but Hank had never been bothered by it before. He hoped he was just in a mood and not permanently transforming into a cranky, old man.

Hank startled when a small hand slipped into the back right pocket of his jeans, but even before he opened his eyes, he could smell the hint of jasmine perfume and feel silky curls brush his arm and he relaxed.

“I realize that patience was never one of your strong suits,” Stella said. “But, three messages in eight minutes is a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“You didn’t pick up.”

“I was trapped on the L without service. They all just came through when I came up from the tunnel.”

He turned to her, wrapped her up in his arms and buried his face in her hair so he could nuzzle the side of her head and breathe her in. She still had one hand in his pocket, but her other came up by his hip and her briefcase bumped against his thigh.

“Can we get out of here, Sherlock?”

“Afraid not, love. We promised Becca. Is she inside?”

“Maybe. I haven’t seen her yet.” He let her go slowly and she pulled back to look up at him, running her hand lightly across his backside. He kissed her once on the lips and wiggled the briefcase out of her fingers.

“You’ll survive.”

“I don’t see why we need to show up for this, though.”

“Because, he’s Becca’s lov-”

Hank groaned. “Do not, do not say lover, I may throw up in my mouth.”

“She’s an adult woman in an adult relationship with a man-”

“And don’t say man.” He put up his hand, trying to block Stella’s face from his view. She grabbed it and yanked it down, stepping up close to him so their chests bumped together.

“Stop being so childish about this.”

“You just said it yourself, she’s an adult. She doesn’t need my approval.”

“No, but she would probably like your support.” Stella took her briefcase back from Hank and then put her arm through his to guide him back to the door of the gallery. “Admit it, Becca’s been happier than we’ve seen her for some time. She likes this guy.”

“So,” he muttered, petulantly. “I don’t like him.”

“You refuse to get to know him.”

“I don’t like how they met.”

“You don’t like how they met?” She stopped and turned him towards her. “You’d rather he picked her up in a hotel bar and and she slipped him her room key so he could come up for a quick fuck?”

“Oh my god.” He gagged slightly and threw a hand over his eyes.

“Because I do think asking to photograph one’s dog whilst in the park is a far more appropriate way of meeting one’s partner.”

“Yeah, well…” Hank wanted to respond in some fashion, but he couldn’t really find an argument to make.

“If you’re going to point out that it worked for us, I’ll remind you that neither you or I are Becca or Tony.”

“Thank god for that, I guess.”

“I think you would like him if you gave it a little effort. Just try to think of him as something other than your daughter’s lover.”

Hank tried not to gag again as Stella pulled him through the door. There weren’t many people inside the gallery, just a handful of what had to be close friends or maybe even family. Stella stopped at the coat check to leave her briefcase and then she picked up a slip of paper on the table near the refreshments.

“This says that the proceeds from any sales tonight are going to a non-profit that supports healing from trauma through the arts,” Stella said.

“Mr. Perfect.”

Stella browsed the row of photographs on the first wall, pulling Hank along with her. She seemed to take an interest in one photo in particular of a crowd in Grand Central Station. He’d seen it when he was inside previously, but hadn’t paid too much attention to it. Now that Stella had stopped for it, he could see that the focus was on a couple near the ticket booth, possibly reuniting or possibly saying their goodbyes. It tugged at his emotions a bit. He remembered how melancholy he was on days when he or Stella would have to leave for the airport and he remembered how excited he was to see her again.

“Fuck,” Hank muttered.

“What?” Stella asked.

“Artists.”

The more they browsed, the less turmoil Hank felt. He’d met Tony twice, briefly, and didn’t spend much time attempting to get to know him in any way, but he felt like he was learning about him through the photographs he took. They were all evocative of something sensitive and almost pure.

The last picture in the first row of photographs was of a woman’s arm and a half-covered tattoo. There was a name hidden under her fingers and Hank tilted his head to try to make it out, but it stayed in the shadows of the photo.

“You know I’m thinking about getting another tattoo,” he said.

“Hm?” Stella answered, her head tipped in the same way as his.

“Yeah it’s going to be on my left ass cheek in the shape of a stamp and it’s going to say Property of Stella Gibson.”

She smiled and laced her fingers through his.

“Dad?”

Hank and Stella broke apart to turn around. Becca and Antonio, ‘my friends call me Tony’, were standing behind them. Tony looked nervous, tightly gripping Becca’s hand.

“Daughter.” Hank put his arm around Becca and pulled her into his side for a hug. He nodded at Tony. “Daughter’s…friend.”

Stella held her arms out for Becca and elbowed Hank before she embraced the girl, placing a kiss to both of her cheeks. “Darling,” she said.

Becca stepped back and took Tony’s hand again. “So, what do you think?” she asked.

“You’re good,” Hank said, trying not to grimace. Surprising even himself, he offered his hand to Tony for a handshake. Tony glanced at Becca first and then took Hank’s hand hesitantly, but gave it a firm shake. “Might have to buy that Grand Central one back there.”

“Oh, if you like it, Mr. Moody, I could print one for you, you don’t have to-”

“Hank. And I do like it. And I will buy it.”

“Well…thank you…Hank.”

“It’s for a good cause, right?”

“One I’d be interested in hearing about,” Stella said, holding the slip of paper up between two fingers. “Do you have any literature on this non-profit?”

“I do, actually, I can go and just…”

“I’ll come along.” Stella glanced back at Hank as she escorted Tony away.

Becca seemed to wait until they were out of earshot to eye her father suspiciously. “Are you buying that photo because you like it or are you just trying to prove you’re not an asshole?”

“Oh, I know I’m an asshole, no need to pretend otherwise. I do actually like it. I like all of them. As long as I don’t come across any nudes that I have to convince myself aren’t of you, I’m good.”

“You should skip the back well then.”

Hank felt the blood drain from his face and his stomach flipped. Becca grinned.

“God, dad, Tony’s not like that.”

“Okay.” Hank nodded and pressed his palm to the erratic thumping against his chest while he gripped Becca’s shoulder to steady himself. “Okay.”

“I didn’t think you would actually show up.”

“I said I would.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But, historically I haven’t handled your relationships very well.”

“I’m not a kid. I’m well past needing your permission, you know?”

He almost laughed at how alike they could be. “I know,” he answered, drawing her a little closer so he could cup her cheeks. “But, maybe you might want my support?”

Her eyes went wide before she nodded. He nodded back. He would try to accept someone else in her life, but she was always going to be six-years old to him, explaining to him in all seriousness that she was going to live with him and mommy forever and that they were best friends for always.

“I really like him,” Becca whispered. “He’s kind and he’s patient and he’s gentle and even though we’ve been together for over a month, he’s not even pressuring me to have sex yet, which I-”

Hank sucked in a breath and let Becca go. “Too far.” He waved his hands in front of him and shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”

“Fine.”

“Are you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

They both nodded Hank leaned over to kiss the part in Becca’s hair. He was relieved to see Stella headed back with Tony as the arrival of the two would put a damper on any awkwardness. Becca slipped easily into Tony’s arms and Stella looped her arm through Hank’s again.

Later that night, after they’d taken a Lyft home and after Hank had tested various spots on their walls for their new photo to hang, he found Stella doing her nightly routine in the bathroom and he pressed up behind her as she brushed her teeth over the sink. She was wearing the t-shirt he’d abandoned after they got home and he lightly massaged her breasts as he rutted against her backside in his unbuttoned jeans.

Stella spit a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink and then cleaned her toothbrush, pushing her hips back into Hank’s enticingly. “I’m proud of you,” she said, looking at him in the mirror as she wiped her hands dry.

“You are?”

She nodded and then turned around and put her arms around his neck. He leaned her back into the counter and tipped his head at her.

“Why?” he asked.

“You’re trying not to get in your own way, for once.”

“Hm.” He narrowed his eyes a little. “Please remember that ‘trying’ is the operative word.”

“You’re the one that invited them over to dinner this weekend, so make sure you maintain the effort.”

“I’ll try,” he said, pointedly.

Stella smiled and then she pushed him away from her and gave him a sharp slap to his left ass cheek. He yelped and rubbed his backside.

“What was that for?”

“Because I own your ass and I want it in bed. Now.”

“You could’ve just asked nicely, Sherlock.”

“True, but where’s the fun in that?”

He caught her around the waist and pulled her back into him as she tried to get out of the bathroom ahead of him. “Have I ever told you how happy I am that I walked into that hotel bar and you slipped me your room key for a quick fuck?”

Stella’s wedding ring twinkled in the lamplight as she reached up and took a backwards grip on his neck. “Show me,” she answered.

The End

#i wrote this #hanella #hank moody #stella gibson #don't know where they'd been hiding #but they came out to play today

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madefate · 9 months ago

Text

This wouldn't be the first time Blitz had ruined a good thing. Honestly, the only surprise is the implicit acknowledgement that this is a good thing - he doesn't know when that edge of nervousness that accompanied every full moon just ... vanished. By all rights, it would make sense to be at least a little apprehensive about something that his entire livelihood hinges on, even if it'd just be a matter of redoing the arrangement if it wasn't working.

But he realizes, now, that it wasn't just a matter of Stolas being a surprisingly accommodating partner - business partner, at least. They - they've been having fun. At least, Blitz is reasonably sure that Stolas has been having fun, if his noises in bed are any indication - or the way he curls up against him after they're done, or the texts that he sends in the interim. And Blitz - when Blitz thinks about this entire thing just ... ending - when he thinks about how ashamed Stolas looked to be confronted with being seen with him -

No, he still doesn't blame Stolas, but now that he's marginally less inebriated and hydrated enough to stave off the hangover for another hour, Blitz is struck with the fact that he would miss this.

He's struck with the fact that he doesn't want to just - let it go.

Maybe that's what the nightmare voice had been goading him towards - you're going to die alone !

Whatever his reasons for coming over, though, they now pale in comparison to what had been laid out right above his head. Is this what Stolas has been dealing with behind closed doors? Blitz had been somewhat aware that Stella wasn't someone he'd wanted to tangle with, and he knows that Octavia is a fairly withdrawn person ... - as he scrambles fully up over the ledge, almost losing his footing only once when a little lightning flash headache pulses behind his good eye, he nurses the ache in the chest at the memory of Stella's ringing voice, the vitriol of her accusations.

And the very, very, very obvious signs that Stolas has been crying. Not the least of which, of course, is that Blitz heard him. But now that he's up and sitting properly on the edge of the balcony, legs crossed under himself, hands braced on his thighs, head tilted up towards Stolas' face, he can see all the signs of distress - his makeup is running, his feathers are dull and ruffled, and despite the red sclera of Stolas' eyes, Blitz can see that they're rimmed and puffy.

Then he sees Stolas wrap his arms around himself, and all at once, Blitz just wants to - grab Stolas and run. Maybe punch someone in the face if they look at Stolas the wrong way.

❝ Uh, yeah. Guess I couldn't either. ❞ Does drinking twice your weight in Beelzejuice and passing out in the bathroom count as sleeping? Probably not.

Blitz kind of hates the way Stolas' voice gets gentle. It rakes along his skin, burning and stinging because it doesn't burn and sting. It's been a while since Blitz has sought out pain on purpose, and he knows he shouldn't, but - fuck. Stolas - Stolas should be able to be honest with him. He should be able to yell at him for putting him in the position of being publicly fucking humiliated when he has so much other shit going on in his.

Fuck, he should be able to yell at him for ruining his life in the first place.

As much as Blitz has always felt the instinctual need to curl up against the threat of rejection, there's something oddly comforting about the idea of Stolas finally letting loose on him. Like he doesn't need to wait for the shoe to drop - like he can do something real and tangible to start making up for all the shit he's done.

❝ I - ❞ So that brings him right back to the beginning: why was he here? Blitz sighs, maneuvering to dig his knee into his thigh instead and prop his chin in his hand, looking up at Stolas and then down at the stone below. ❝ - I felt shitty about how I left things. I - I'm sorry. ❞

Shit. That's true, isn't it? He is sorry.

He's tempted to sidestep the question of what he'd heard, pretend he'd gotten there later or puked in the bushes or something, anything to show that he hadn't eavesdropped. But this feels ... too important. The kind of thing that you can't ignore because this isn't a disagreement or a scuffle - it's serious. And, fuck - what if he hadn't been here? What if - fuck, does anyone even know what's happening?

A chill rakes down his spine at the revelation.

❝ I heard. Most of it, I think. ❞ His voice is firmer, now. This is not an easy problem to unravel, but it's almost straightforward, because it is unequivocally not fucking okay. Blitz looks back up at him, keeping his distance - letting Stolas make the decision about his boundaries, what he wants or needs, but he doesn't back down.

❝ You can tell me as much or as little as you want. I'm not gonna push if you don't want me to. But I heard. - What can I do? What kind of help do you need? ❞

There had been several long moments where Stolas had almost backed down, had almost given in, the way he always did. Stella likely would have taken her anger out on him, and everything would have just……gone right back to normal. He would have to put on a brave face and tell Via that everything was fine when he was dying inside.

And now…., he wouldn't even have Blitz to make one night a month a place he could escape to, where he might have some shred of happiness, however fleeting. He had ruined everything in one moment of his own self-hatred. Stolas hadn't stood up for Blitz, even though that would have meant putting his heart out on a platter for all of Hell to see, for Blitz to see…., and he was going to have to deal with the consequences.

Stella was right about that: he had fallen from grace. But not because he'd had an affair; because he hadn't put himself on the line for the man he loved. He knows full well that if their positions had been reversed, Blitz would have stood up for him, would have put himself directly in the line of fire…..because he'd done it. He'd done it that very night, for Moxxie. And Stolas hadn't been able to say a word.

It would have been better for everyone if he'd never been born. Then he never could have hurt any of them. He wouldn't have disappointed his father, Stella would have had to find another target to take out her anger on, and while Via wouldn't exist….., he never would have let her down.

That thought does stop him. Because for all of the pain he's endured, all of the suffering he's caused…., he would take on all of it over again, tenfold, for his daughter. She was the most important person in his life, and his only regreat about his relationship with Blitz, such that it was…..was that he had hurt his child.

He was trying to make up for that…., but at this point, he wasn't sure how he'd be able to, not when he had thrown Stella out, when he had finally, FINALLY insisted that they get the divorce they should have had years ago. It was going to hurt Via…., but if he didn't get away from Stella…., he wasn't going to make it. And that really would hurt Via, and he was not about to do that to her, not after everything she'd already been through.

She needed one parent she could count on, and even if getting through the divorce was going to be hard…., he was going to be there for his daughter.

But where did that leave his arrangement with Blitz? Would he even want to talk to him at all, after tonight? He doubted that Blitz would want to see him, was beginning to realize that Blitz….never really wanted to see him. Their arrangement was just a business transaction to him, a way to ensure that his business was able to keep functioning.

Thing is, though…., even if Blitz decided he never wanted to see him again, Stolas would let him keep using the grimoire. He'd find some way of getting it back when he needed it, but…., he wasn't about to pull the rug out from under Blitz, not when he needed to access the human world for his livelihood; he wasn't that cruel, that heartless. He was just…..so desperately lonely that it had been the best way he could think of to see Blitz again, to spend time with him.

It didn't help that his father had taught him that all relationships were transactional, really. He'd paid for Blitz to be his friend in the first place, and the better Stolas did with his studies, the more of Paimon's attention he got. So it had just…..made sense to him, that that was how he could get Blitz back into his life after he had shown him just how different things could be.

He'd read about all sorts of relationships in his books, but Blitz had actually shown him what it was like, to be with someone who cared whether he was mentally present or not, and not only that, who had taken care of him. Blitz had given him a single night of passion, and had opened his eyes to so much more; of course he hadn't wanted to let him go.

Stolas hadn't really had….friends, before Blitz. And he hadn't exactly had any after him, either. The night that they'd met, the night that they had played Treasure Hunt, when Paimon discovered everything that was missing, Stolas had been the one who paid for it, and he paid dearly. He was physically reprimanded, and any trips outside the palace were stopped; he was kept at home and almost constantly supervised.

But he didn't blame Blitzo, as he'd been called then, for that. He'd finally had a friend, for a brief moment in time, someone who had spent time with him, who had played games with him and seemed to genuinely care about him. Stolas had wanted to keep in touch, after that birthday; maybe they could get together again and play more games! Growing up with a friend sounded amazing! But even if nothing had been taken, that wouldn't have been in the cards. Paimon never would have allowed it.

He had thought about his friend a lot, over the years, wondering how he was doing, if he ever did manage to get all the horses he'd wanted, if the balloon horses he made still had laminitis…., if he thought about him at all. Though he was fairly certain he knew the answer to that particular riddle.

And somehow, twenty-five years later, when Stolas was barely living, was only going through the motions of a life, Blitz had come back. Their first night had been based on a misunderstanding, yes, but it had still changed everything. Blitz had changed everything, several times over…., and Stolas hadn't even been able to say a word.

Not when it had mattered, not when it would have made a difference. Why hadn't he had the confidence to stand up for Blitz the way he'd stood up to Stella? It was the first time in his life he'd managed to advocate for himself, and it didn't feel like enough.

Then again, he never was enough, was he?

At some point, as he'd been going through the catalogue of his life, he started to sob; shoulder-shaking, gut-wrenching cries, every hurt he'd suffered, every hurt he'd caused wrenching their way out of him.

Which was why he hadn't heard anything in the garden over his own pain.

But the moment he sees movement, sees Blitz, he takes a deep, shaky breath, and tries to hide the fact that he'd just been crying his eyes out.

He tries to offer him any semblance of a smile, but he can feel his lips trembling, refusing to form the expression he wants. Blitz says he didn't think Stolas would still be up, and short, sharp laugh leaves him, though it ends on what sounds far too much like a sob for his liking.

"I--," he starts, then lets out a sigh, running a hand through his feathers. Satan, he must look even worse than usual right now, and he tries to brush his face as discreetly as possible. "I wasn't," is what he finally says, arms wrapping around himself. "I….couldn't sleep." Which isn't a lie; he'd drunk himself into a stupor and then passed out, but…., he wouldn't have been able to sleep if he'd tried.

"What are you doing here?" Stolas asks, and his voice is softer, gentler than it had been, even with himself, even now, after everything.

And then it dawns on him that Stella hadn't left that long ago. If Blitz had climbed up the trellis, the way he usually did, he would have had to be in the garden. Which meant that he might have overheard some of what happened.

"What did you hear?" he asks, not sure if it's better or worse if he'd heard any of his exchange with Stella. If he had…, well, then at least he'll have first-hand experience of just how worthless Stolas really is.

#hh tw #( ic. )#( blitz. )#helldustedstories #au. and i'm so ready to wake up

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lacroixqueen · 3 years ago

Text

every last drop

summary: you decide to go out on a friday night with some of your friends from the Gardens, and then bump into one of your regulars. things turn spicy, smut without a plot yada yada yada

pairing: sevika x fem reader

wordcount: 3.2k

rating: M

warnings/tags: slapping, choking, bruising, spitting, some non-graphic violence, bdsm, sadism, masochism

notes: if you liked reading, feel free to check out my violyn fic, and other works on ao3!

It was Friday evening, and the night was still young in Zaun. You and your coworkers from the Gardens decided it would be the perfect opportunity to blow off some steam from work and go out to have some fun for once.

For some odd reason, you still couldn’t get that night you spent with Sevika out of your head. Almost a week has passed and memories of it would still flash randomly in your mind, distract you when you least expect it, or even appear in your dreams.

How sturdy her thigh felt between your legs, the way her hands felt wrapping around your neck.

Or perhaps in the middle of the night, when no one was looking, you would fantasize about the way her soft, full lips felt against your neck, and reach into your panties and touch yourself. Of course, it wasn’t enough.

You hated yourself for it too, since you didn’t want all of your free thoughts to be preoccupied by her.

But you just couldn’t help it.

“Hey… earth to Y/N!” Stella was snapping her fingers in front of your face.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” you shook those unwanted thoughts out of your head.

“What’s up with you?” your coworker asked, leaning over the vanity while applying an absurd amount of mascara. “It’s like you aren’t even paying attention to anything I’m saying.”

“I know,” you sighed, trying your hardest to focus on flicking out your winged liner. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind recently.. And I don’t think I’m getting enough sleep.”

“Oh?” Stella capped her mascara and took out her lipstick. “Why’s that?”

“No particular reason,” you muttered quickly to avoid further questioning.

You looked yourself over in the mirror. You wanted to look and feel good tonight.

It’s been so long since you’ve had the free time to go out for an entire night and not have to think about work or any other responsibilities. You decided to wear a maro on, velvety cami dress and a matching choker. The dress complimented your figure nicely, with a scooped sweetheart neckline and a backless cut.

“Dang, Y/N,” Stella looked you over as she fixed her hair. “You didn’t have to outdress me for the hundredth time we go out, you know that, right?”

“Oh, shut up,” you giggled, pushing her back playfully. “You look amazing too. Besides, I just want to drink away all my problems and not remember any of this tomorrow morning anyway.”

“It’s like you read my mind,” your coworker laughed as she grabbed your arm, pulling you out into the bustling streets of Zaun.

Even for a Friday night, the undercity felt remarkably alive. Restaurants had lines out the door, clubs were blasting music until their walls were literally shaking, and the neon lights sparkled fearlessly in the midst of all the chaos. You and your friends decided to hit up the best place in town: The Last Drop.

Now, The Last Drop was more than simply just a bar. It was almost sort of like the central hub of Zaun itself. The breeding grounds for backroom deals, smuggled wares, and hushed conversation, all concealed with the thinly veiled disguise of poured drinks and cheery mingling.

You pushed open the wooden doors, only to be greeted by a bar packed to the brim with guests of all different shapes and sizes. At the table to your left was a group of drunken Yordles laughing uncontrollably at some joke. The main bar seated couples chatting away the night, lonesome travelers who have lost count of their drinks, and shady characters abound.

And in the midst of it all, like a present that fell into your lap, there she was. Sevika was seated in the back corner of the bar, gambling with a group of large, intimidating-looking men. And it seemed like she was winning by a longshot. The warrior was grinning ear-to-ear, a cigar hanging in between her lips, while collecting mountains of golden, glittering coins after every round. Her opponents threw down their cards in frustration, only to be replaced by another group of equally oblivious, overly confident rivals who were watching from the sidelines. She had quite an audience going, with dozens of other bargoers crowding around the table to see what the commotion was all about.

You felt like you were in disbelief. Now, it wasn’t at all a rare occurrence to spot Sevika playing poker in the back of The Last Drop on a Friday night. It was, after all, the place to be. What caught you off guard, however, was seeing the woman who railed you into oblivion last week just sitting casually in the tavern playing a game of cards. Your eyes glazed over her bulging arm muscles and taut stomach that peaked underneath her top. And that smirk. That stupid, stupid smirk she always wore when she knew things were going her way.

You scoffed, crossing your arms across your chest, glancing in her direction every few minutes to see if she even saw you enter. But it didn’t seem like she was even paying any attention to you.

“Come ON, Y/N,” Stella cried out, jerking you out of your fixation. “Still spacing out? Let’s line up and get some booze. Maybe we can seduce one of those Shimmer dealers over there to buy us free drinks.”

“Okay, okay,” you capitulated, following close behind her. Perhaps getting to the bar would get you closer into Sevika’s field of vision. You would be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t going to dress up and go out with the slim chance of bumping into her tonight. And how lucky you were.

By the time your group reached the front of the bar, Stella was already chatting up some fish creature who was easily falling for her charms. You sighed, resting the side of your face against your hands, still looking over at Sevika. It was pretty obvious she knew you were here, since she did take a few glances over in your direction, only to look back at her game.

How utterly frustrating. And frankly, very rude in your opinion.

“Is everything okay?” your coworker asked, waving her hand in front of your face as she pushed two fruity cocktails towards you. “Oh.” She followed your gaze to look over at Sevika, who was currently winning another hand of poker.

“I’m fine,” you say through gritted teeth, gulping down the majority of the sugary drink in just a couple of seconds.

“Isn’t that one of your regulars?” Stella asked, nudging you teasingly. “She looks like she’s having a really good time.”

“She just fucked the living being out of me a few days ago, and now sees me at a bar and then pretends like I don’t even exist!” you blurted out, suckling on an ice cube in between your lips. “It’s like she’s embarrassed of me, or something.”

“I mean, it’s not like you’re her girlfriend or anything,” Stella shrugged, sipping her drink at a much slower pace. “Honey, she pays to have sex with you without anyone else knowing, and then once she’s done, she hangs you out to dry. It’s just how the industry works sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah, whatever,” you pout, setting down your glass against the bar.

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that!” your coworker encouraged, as she signaled over to the bartender. “Just forget about her! We are here to have a good time. When was the last time either of us had this much time off? Let’s just take some shots and not think about all that other bullshit, okay?”

“Alright..” you agreed. She was right. If you just spent the entire night pining over Sevika, you wouldn’t enjoy yourself at all. The bartender fixed you both a sizable amount of tequila shots.

Stella sighed, picking up two in either hand and giving one to you.

“Cheers,” she said, raising her glass in the air. “To a productive week at the Gardens. To you being one of the best friends I could ever ask for. And.. to this night. To this fantastic, glorious night.”

“Cheers,” you replied as you clink your glass against hers, not hesitating before downing the absolutely horrendous liquid. It felt like it burned off your insides as it sloshed down your esophagus and into your stomach. You grimaced as you set down the shot glass, only for Stella to hand you another. And another. And another.

The room was starting to spin, and you felt like you blacked out for a second before you felt some grubby arm of a chemtech worker snake around your shoulder.

“Oh my goodness, get off of me!” you pushed him away, scoffing as you took another drink. Stella was nowhere to be found. Probably snuck off with some guy she just met.

Your gaze landed back over to Sevika, who appeared to be finished gambling. She was just smoking a cigarette at this point, while clinking whiskey glasses with some of the other men at her table.

For some nonsensical reason, you decided to stand up from your barstool and hobble on over into her direction. In the back of your mind, you knew this was a stupid idea and that it most likely wouldn’t end well. But you just couldn’t help yourself.

That pesky, aching, fluttering feeling in your tummy that has been there since the night you spent with Sevika was simply not going away. You felt this undying urge to just sit on her lap, or give her a kiss, or whisper stupid, flirty things into her ear. Anything. Just anything.

By the time you hobbled on over to her table, you snuck up behind the warrior and wrapped your arms around her neck.

“Hiiii Sevika~” you slurred out, clearly very drunk, and clearly completely unaware of what was going on.

The group of men who were sitting beside her at the table erupted into a fit of laughter as they watched Sevika suddenly grab you by the arm and then lead you away from the crowd.

“Hey, Sevika! Go get an actual room!” one of them called out after her, unable to stifle another laugh.

At this point, the woman was dragging you across the bar like a ragged doll, and you were just going with the motions. Your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach, since you knew you were in trouble and that she was having none of it.

She flung open the wooden doors to the bathroom and briskly locked them behind her. Wordlessly, she picked you up and slammed you on top of the counter, her mechanical hand gripping over your neck. Without warning, she took her other hand and slapped it against the fat part of your cheek, hard enough to leave a very noticeable red bruise.

“Don’t. Ever. Do. That. Again.” she hissed between her teeth, increasing the strength of her grip.

“I-I’m sorry..” you whimpered, reaching your hands up to hold onto the one that was slowly choking you. “I promise I won’t.”

Sevika growled as she reached up and gripped onto a large clump of your hair, using it as leverage to pull your head forward so she could speak into your ear.

“Do you realize what you just did?” she snarled. “Those were enforcers. We were making a deal. You embarrassed me.” She was never one to mince words, and this time, they were so harsh they cut into you like a knife.

“I know..” you sighed, looking down in shame. Your lips started to quiver, tears rolling down your face. You genuinely felt really bad. The conversation was probably something very important, and you ruined it all just because of your own selfish desires.

“I’m really, really sorry, again, Sevika.”

The warrior’s cloudy, gray eyes bore into yours, not wavering even for a second. She maintained her grip onto your hair, even pulling it harder, and upwards this time. Her mechanical hand snuck up your neck and cupped your face, squeezing your cheeks hard.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue,” she commanded, yanking your hair back again. The sensation burned into the back of your scalp, but you quickly obeyed and did as you were told.

You presented your soft, pink tongue for fucking. Sevika immediately took the index and middle finger of her mechanical hand and laid them on top of your tongue, and then gradually forced them into the back of your throat.

“Suck,” she said simply, reaching them even deeper until they prodded against your gag reflex. You could feel yourself beginning to gag again, until she pulled onto your hair one more time.

“Don’t. Make me repeat myself,” she warned, watching you struggle to take in her fingers.

You nodded like the good girl you were, bobbing your head up and down in motion as your pink tongue wrapped around and between her two fingers. You moaned softly as you continued to suckle and flick your tongue against them. The squelching, sucking noises from your lips bounced off the walls of the empty bathroom.

Occasionally, Sevika would let you rest, disconnecting her fingers from your tongue to leave a thin rope of saliva between them. It would only be for a split second though, as she would shove them right back in once she has lulled you into a false sense of security. Finally, the warrior withdrew her mechanical fingers from your mouth, only to cup your cheeks once more.

“Open,” she said, tightly squeezing your cheeks. “I said keep them open.”

You did as you were told, your heart pounding against your chest, anticipating what was to come next.

Sevika pursed her lips as she gathered all her saliva into the front of her mouth. With a ‘tuh’ sound, she spit directly into yours. You could feel the warmth of her saliva collecting in the dip of your own tongue.

“Swallow,” she commanded, pushing against your cheeks with the thumb and index fingers of her mechanical hand in order to close your mouth. You swallowed her saliva, gulping it down, and then parted your lips open to show her that you did so successfully.

She smirked, very pleased that you have been taking all her orders. “Good girl.”

Sevika released her grip from your hair, now both hands sliding down to the small of your waist.

You looked up at her, pleasantly surprised that the woman was still towering over you, even if you were sitting on a bathroom counter. She leaned down gently, brushing her soft, full lips against yours and then sneaking her tongue into your mouth. You instinctively wrapped your arms around her neck and legs around her hips, moaning while kissing her back slowly and sensually.

You absolutely relished in how she tasted: The musky residues of smoke and liquor, and the slightly saccharine hint of Shimmer.

She paused the kiss, only to brush the tip of her human hand against the plumpest part of your bottom lip.

“You know, you really are a cheap little whore..” she whispered into your ear, her voice low.

“Wh-what do you mean?” you stammered out, looking up at her.

“I don’t even have to pay for you this time,” she smirked, as she planted her lips back on top of yours.

You rolled your eyes, a twinge knotting in your stomach. Unbelievable. She was always so arrogant, and felt the need for every last person in Runeterra to know. Even as you two were making out in a bar bathroom, she still has the time of day to waste her breath on degrading you even more than she already has.

Without warning, Sevika dropped her human hand off your waist, resting it on top of your thigh. Over time, she gradually reached underneath your cami dress, the tips of her fingers pulling at the tops of your panties.

“Sevika, no!” you cried out, breaking the kiss and peering over at the door that led right into the crowded halls of The Last Drop. “What if someone sees us?!”

“Suddenly so concerned about that now?” she laughed, as she used her weight to push you so your back was now pressed up against the mirror. She hastily tugged off your scarlet, lace thong, throwing it carelessly onto the dirty floor. You felt her rough hand rub large circles over your swollen vulva, even pinching your nubby clit between her two fingers every now and then to tease you even more.

You could tell she could feel just how wet you were, and how she smiled to herself because of the fact. It made her smug.

“I’m just saying!” you blushed, pouting as you looked to the other direction. “And hey! Why would you throw those on the ground.. ah~!”

A jolt of electricity ran up your spine as you felt her two thick fingers pushing deep into your vagina. The walls of your cervix gripped onto them tightly, as they worked their way even further up into you, hooking so they brushed up against your special spot.

You moaned, hugging around Sevika’s neck for dear life as she fingered your helpless, unsuspecting little pussy.

The straps of your dress were slowly falling off your shoulder, revealing the tops of your black and red lace bra. Ugh. And now Sevika saw that you even took the time to match for her. As if you weren’t already humiliated enough. She took note of this, giving you some mercy by not commenting on it.

“Ahw, ah~,” you sighed, as Sevika rammed her fingers in and out, the pads of her calloused palms rubbing relentlessly against your clit each time. She grunted, using her whole body as a fulcrum, her mechanical arm gripping onto the edge of the counter as she used the full force of her other hand to obliterate you the way she wanted to. You were beginning to see stars at this point, and you could feel Sevika beginning to edge you.

She knew you were close.

If she just swept her hand over your clit one last time, or just pushed her fingers slightly deeper, it would be enough. If she could just go just a tiny bit harder..

The intimate moment was immediately interrupted by a pounding knock against the bathroom doors.

“Hey, can you lovebirds hurry it up in there?” a drunken girl called out. “You guys have been in there forever!”

Shit.

“Please, Sevika,” you begged, gripping onto her muscular arm. “Please, please, please.. I have to cum.”

The warrior chuckled a bit, giving you a few more weak pumps of her finger, rubbing her palm against your clit one last time before withdrawing her hand altogether. She appeared to be quite smug, almost laughing to herself at how desperate you were. How easy it was to get you into the state you were in.

“You cum when I say you cum,” she replied simply, lightly slapping her wet hand against your cheek. She quickly flipped open the faucet and washed you off her hands under the running water.

Without another word, she unlocked and pushed through the bathroom doors to re-enter the bar.

You sighed, legs shuddering as you leaned up against the cold bathroom mirror. Your juices leaked all over the counter, and started to drip onto the floor.

Fuck. Now what did you get yourself into?

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